


Details And Drug Paraphernalia

by Kitannax



Series: Modern Fallout AU [1]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, F/M, First Times, Fluff, LGBT characters, Love Triangle, Modern AU, Multi, Smut, Transgender Characters, Unhealthy Relationships, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, alternative universe, genderfluid protagonist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-15
Updated: 2016-06-15
Packaged: 2018-06-02 10:07:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 33
Words: 20,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6562162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitannax/pseuds/Kitannax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a modern alternative universe, John "Hancock" McDonough owns a record store, indulges freely in drugs and alcohol, and cycles through lovers like only a man with his looks and charisma can. When Capable Daecota starts working at the Starbucks next door, John finally attempts to get clean, with or without her. Meanwhile Capable fends feelings for both erratic John and sensible Nick Valentine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. John

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely inspired by the Mallout AU by valencock and 60-minuteman on tumblr. Their depiction of John was used with permission.
> 
> For art based on this fanfiction, check out smootandthings, who is kindly illustrating this work.

There's a new barista at the Starbucks next door. John doesn't usually notice this sort of thing, but this new girl sort of stands out. Half her hair is shaved short, the other side swept across her face. She has mismatched earrings; a button and a safety pin, and a crooked smile as she takes his order. 

He reads her name tag and grins. "Capable, huh? Interesting name." 

"Chose it myself." She flashes him a crooked grin that only widens when she notices his shirt - black with a tie dyed pot leaf emblazoned on the front, "what can I get you?"

He hopes he's not imagining her subtly looking him up and down, taking in his reddish blonde hair tied in a messy knot, the blunt tucked not-so-subtly behind his ear, which is incidentally pierced in multiple places.

"Lemon and ginger tea." He says, passing over a five dollar note, and she raises an eyebrow. 

"I was expecting something more caffeine filled." She says as she moves from the register to make his order, one of the usual baristas taking her place. 

"Can't have too many vices now, can I?" He winks, and a faint blush colours her cheeks. He tips her another wink as he takes the warm cup from her. 

"Name's John, by the way. I work next door. Feel free to drop by." He waves and makes his way back next door. 

"Thanks for watching the place," he nods at Deacon, "see ya." 

The place is half deserted, the usual considering he mostly sells records rather than CDs. Still, that works in his favour. Leaving the bell on the counter for customers to ring, he heads out the back to take in new stock - and smoke the blunt behind his ear. Not like anyone will tell him off. Perks of actually owning a record store. If it wasn't risky, he'd take a hit of something stronger. 

Yawning, he switches the store music to something with a little more bass, sipping his tea. At the back of his mind, as the weed kicks in, he wonders whether she'll ever drop by.


	2. Capable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We - and John - meet the barista again, and it ends... Well, just as expected.

Clocking off her first shift at the new store was a relief. Capable Daecota hadn't expected to be working in Starbucks at twenty one, but there she was. Her environmentalism degree wasn't going to do shit in this day and age. Not that she'd finished it. Shoving her green apron into her bag, she smoothed down her jeans and tugged off her sweater, revealing a shirt that told anyone who bothered to read to "fuck off". 

She would have just gone home, but something was drawing her into the record store next door. When she entered the store, she found it deserted. Approaching the counter, she rang the bell. 

 

The guy from that morning poked his head round the store room door with what was undeniably a cloud of smoke wafting around his head. God, he was cute. 

"Hey, Capable!" He threw her a lazy grin. "Just in time." 

"For what?" She paused and inhaled, "Is that pot?"

"That's precisely what you're in time for. Come on back." 

Shrugging, she walked around the counter and followed him into the store room, which was half full of boxes. 

 

"Make yourself at home," he patted an upturned milk crate, settling down on one of his own.

"So... You own this place?" She asked as he passed her the blunt. 

"Yup," he nodded, re-tying the messy bun on top of his head, "not bad for a drop out, huh?"

"Nothing wrong with dropping out." Capable took a long drag of the blunt and passed it back, "I dropped out of college."

"For a job at Starbucks?" He smirked.

"Oh yeah. Magnificent opportunity." She snickered, "nah, more like, college blows ass and is way too expensive. Plus it's full of obnoxious pricks."

 

"Glad I skipped out then," he grinned, joint pursed between his lips, "nice shirt by the way."

"Thanks," she grinned back, "nothing says 'stop looking at me' like an offensive shirt." 

"And tattoos." John pointed out, "I've noticed nobody fucks with a girl with tattoos." 

"Close," she smiled, "but I'm not always a girl. Sometimes I'm just. Me. If that makes sense?"

"I know exactly how you feel." He nodded, "way I see it, there's no girl stuff and guy stuff. Just stuff." 

 

"I think I'm gonna like you, John. Hell, I don't even know your full name," she giggled, eyes hazy from the pot. 

"Well technically it's McDonough, though I prefer Hancock."

"Shit family name?" Capable guessed.

"Oh yeah." He took a long drag on the almost-gone joint, "sorry babe, you'll have to wine, dine, and sixty nine me a few times before you get that sorry tale."

She snorted.

"Are you always this disgustingly flirtatious?"

"Only with the people I like. Which is, you know, most people. What can I say, sunshine, I like touring the town. Gotta say though, you're a rarity."

 

"Disgusting," she teased, "I bet you say that to all the girls and boys you bring back here." 

"Actually, I haven't brought anyone back here in... Well, ever actually. Kinda considered unprofessional." He practically purred the last word. 

 

"I can't believe you're trying to seduce me in the back room of your record store the day we meet." She feigned indignation.

"Am I succeeding, though?" He asked, getting to his feet to step on the still faintly smouldering butt of the joint. She shrugged, feigning indifference as she, too, stood. 

"I dunno, John," she murmured, standing on her tiptoes, "why don't you slip your fingers into my panties and find out?"

If he was taken aback by her boldness, he didn't show it. Instead he wrapped one arm around her waist, the other sneaking down the front of her jeans, popping the button with practised ease. 

 

"I don't usually do this," she informed him, her breath hitching on the last word as his fingers found their target. Rubbing the little bundle of nerves between her thighs with his thumb and forefinger, he pondered her phrasing. 

"No?"

"No," she echoed, "but you..." 

"Can't help it sunshine, see I'm the sort of guy who takes every good opportunity." He eases her jeans and panties down slowly, "and this? You? You're one hell of an opportunity." 

 

She snickers, "real charmer there, aren't ya?" 

"You'll grow to like it." He shrugs, although they both know that this might just be a one off occurrence. Maybe. Shaking the thought train off, she leans up, because damned if he's not at least six foot tall, although she could be wrong because she's tiny, and kisses him. Mainly because she can, and also because he has one of those dumb faces that you just can't help but want to kiss. Hard. 

 

She should have known he'd be a ridiculous kisser. Although John knows better than to explicitly brag about how experienced he is to a new lover, the implication is there, and it's far more than implied by the way he kisses. His hair is coming out of its knot and she runs her fingers through it the reddish waves, smirking at the little hum of approval in his throat as she does. Keeping one hand in his hair, she unzips his pants, slipping her hand inside to palm at his cock eagerly. 

 

She isn't expecting the soft moan he lets out when she starts to stroke him slowly. 

"Nice mood music," she comments and he realises he left the store room stereo on.

"I can turn it off if you prefer..." He says sheepishly, trying not to moan like a little bitch as her hand pumps his cock. 

"Absolutely not," she smirks, "in fact, if I were you? I'd turn it up." 

 

"Girl after my own heart," he says, fumbling in his pocket for his phone. In the time it takes him to open the app and turn the music up, she's on her knees, warm, eager mouth engulfing his now aching cock. 

"Jesus," he shoves his hair out of his face, biting back a vulgar moan as she licks around the head of his dick with an expert precision, smirking up at him before sucking the tip slowly, drawing that bitten back moan out of his throat. 

"Such a nice sound," she purrs, licking a long stripe along the underside of his throbbing length. He knots his hands into her hair, holding her in place as she starts moving her head back and forward. He's had a LOT of head in his life. Given a fair amount too. But even he has to admit, she's fucking good. She pulls away, tongue delicately swiping the precum from her lips.

 

"So," she says, getting to her feet, "how do you want to do this?" 

He considers telling her, in his usual style, that he doesn't fucking care as long as he's balls deep inside her, but something tells him that probably isn't the correct response. So instead he takes charge, turning her around and pressing wet, open mouthed kisses against her neck as he bends her over the nearest stack of boxes. She whimpers as the thick head of his cock brushes her slickened entrance. His hands run along her hips, up her shirt, caressing her breasts as he slides into her. 

 

"Jesus," she whines, bracing herself against the box pile, pushing her hips back against his eagerly, "fuck, John!" 

He takes that as an encouragement and starts thrusting shallowly, one hand retreating from her shirt to stroke her hair. 

"Hmm," he hums to himself as she tightens around him, "so gorgeous," he places another kiss to her neck, "so fucking gorgeous." 

 

The high, lingering from the joint they shared, seems to slow things down. She's certainly glad he turned the music up, because the angle and the pace of his thrusts is hitting the sweet spot inside her each time.

"That's it, babe, scream for me," he purrs into her ear, and God does she obey, gasping his name between deep breaths and piercing moans. The moans he makes as he buries himself deeper inside her are almost vulgar, and addictive to boot. 

"John!" She gasps, "John I'm so close!" 

"Me too, honey, me too," he strokes her hair, "you're so perfect, all spread out and wanting me, makes my cock ache so bad, babe..." 

 

The filthy praise tips her over the edge; she clenches around him, practically screaming his name as she grows slicker with her release. 

"That's what I like to hear," he moans softly, "now where do you want me to cum, honey?" 

"I don't care," she gasps out, "John, I-"

"You're on the pill?"

"Uh-huh, pinkie swear," she's still breathless and it's adorable. 

"Fuck it," he mutters, gripping her hips for a better angle, finally finding release inside her. He thrusts shallowly, filling her with his hot release in thick, heavy spurts. 

 

"Christ," she murmurs, turning to face him once he pulls out of her, "that was... Fuck." 

He smirks, handing her a bandanna from his pocket, "not bad, sunshine. Not bad."

 

He turns away from her while she cleans herself up, shimmying back into his pants. When he turns, he finds himself staring at her a little longer than usual. Maybe it's her just-fucked hair, ruffled and messy, or her swollen lips from his kisses. Maybe it's the fact that she's cute and wearing a shirt he approves of. Maybe it's the fact that she gives great head. Maybe it's all of them. Either way, something makes him speak.

"You hungry?"

"You asking me out?" She asks with a smirk.

"Maybe," he jokes, "maybe I just want to get into your pants."

 

She laughs, "bit late for that. But yeah, I'm hungry. What do you recommend?" 

"Well," he shrugs sheepishly, "I'm broke as fuck, but my roommates are making tacos."

"Any good?"

"For non Latino people, yeah, they cook pretty well. You comin'?" 

"Sure." She grins and follows him out of the store room.


	3. John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John takes Capable to meet his friends, and she ends up sticking around more permanently in an unexpected way.

"Sorry my car's a piece of crap," Capable apologised as they walked up the driveway. 

"Hey, it got us here," John shrugged, "besides, it's pretty sweet. Where'd you get a vintage Beetle, huh?" 

"Inherited it," Capable said, expression nervous as he turned the key in the lock. 

"Yo, Deeks, Mac! Anyone home?" John called as they walked through the living room; she snickered at the bong on the table. 

 

"Kitchen, dumbass. You're late!" 

John led her along the hallway into a small, messy kitchen, where a bald man wearing sunglasses was chopping lettuce and a younger man with scruffy hair and a silly hat was flipping tortillas on the grill. 

"Ah, John, ensnared another one?"

"He's kidding," John assured her, "I don't bring people home."

"No, you're a rarity, what's your name, huh?" The bald man asked. 

 

"This is Capable, and you're going to be nice, Deacon." John said vaguely threateningly before turning to her, "Cape, this is Deacon and Mac. Yes, they're gay." 

"I wasn't going to ask-" she protested and he grinned.

"Well, thought you might want to know in case you hear them later." 

"Pfftt," Deacon snorted, "I'd bet twenty bucks we're more likely to hear you. She looks like she can make you loud, Johnny boy." 

Capable pointed to the caption on her shirt, but grinned to show she was joking. 

 

Ten minutes later, the four of them settled into the living room comfortably, Mac and Deacon on one couch, Capable and John on the other. He had to admit, she fitted in nicely, laughing with his friends, throwing jibes and jokes back whenever someone directed one at her. 

"So where you staying right now, huh?" MacCready asked, lighting a cigarette.

"Couch surfing until I get a place, bailing on college will do that." Capable shrugged.

"We have a spa-" Mac cut off at the look on John's face, "okay maybe it's a bit soon for you to move in together."

 

"You don't have anywhere to go?" He looked at Capable who shrugged, "I've been staying with my friend and her boyfriend but... Yeah. Mega third wheel."

"For fucks sake." He rolled his eyes, "Mac's right, we have a spare room. You may as well just live in there until you find a place. Where's all your stuff?"

"Back of my car. Like I said, couch surfing." 

"Deeks, find her some blankets, yeah?" John stood up and stretched. "C'mon, I'll help you get your stuff."

 

When they were outside, she tapped his arm.  
"Look, you don't have to- I mean, if it's gonna be awkward, we just met and, you know-"

"Fucked in the store?" He smirked, "nah, it's fine. We needed a roommate anyway. Besides," he smirks at her, "makes booty calls a lot closer."

 

"Charming," she snorted as they both grab a duffle bag each and head back inside. 

"It's only a fold-out bed in there at the moment," Deacon explained, "but it's fairly cushy. I mean, not that I imagine you'll be sleeping in there a lot." He waggled his eyebrows, which Capable was surprised to see were ginger, at John who flipped him off. 

"Just calling it as I see it, mate," Deacon shrugged before heading back down the hallway, "nighty night." 

 

"You'll get used to him," John promised, "make yourself at home. Bathroom is the middle door and I'm right across the hallway. Anything that's at your friend's place we can go get tomorrow. I'll ask Mac if I can take the van." 

"I really appreciate this, John." She smiled shyly, "I guess I'll, um, put my stuff away."

"Sure thing, sunshine. I'll leave you to it." He bopped her on the nose and sauntered across the hallway into his room, letting the door close behind him; not before he watched her close her own door. 

 

God, this was a bad idea. He slumped against his door for a moment before crossing to his bed. Sure, she was cute, and she fit in with his friends, and they needed a roommate. But this was moving way too fast to be good. John wasn't the monogamy sort. He was the love 'em and leave 'em type. He had booty calls. One night stands. Short flings. Fuck, he was frustrated, not to mention confused and concerned. On one hand, this could be fine. On the other... What if he ended up actually loving her or something? 

He needed a distraction. Plugging in his headphones, he set his music player to shuffle and rolled a joint. Only when it was lit did he turn his attention to the problem that had arisen. Or rather, his dick, which had risen considerably thinking about the girl across the hall.


	4. Capable

Does he realise she can hear him? Does he have headphones in, or is he doing it deliberately? Capable wants to get up, cross the hallway in nothing but the huge t-shirt she sleeps in, open his door and, quite frankly, ride him until he's speechless. However. She doesn't want to cross any lines that might have sprung up since she unceremoniously became his roommate less than an hour ago. 

 

Ugh. It's not fair. Life is far too complicated. It doesn't help that, as John warned, she can hear Deacon and Mac getting frisky in the room down the hall. Burying her face in her pillow, she has to force herself to try and think of anything but John, anything but that smirk and his soft reddish hair, anything but his hands on her, anything but those soft purring moans from earlier as he drove himself deeper inside her- fuck. The telltale dampness on her thighs only infuriated her. Ignoring it, she slid on sweatpants and shoes before making her way to the door down the hallway, sitting on the front porch with a cigarette between her lips. 

 

The door creaked behind her.

"Can't sleep?" A wicked gleam flickered in John's eyes.

"Funny, that." She took a long drag of the cigarette. 

"Could have come to sleep with me instead," he produces a pipe from his pocket, entirely nonchalant.

"I didn't think it would be appropriate." She said, and then, "is that crack?" 

 

"Firstly, just because you live here now doesn't mean we can't fuck when we feel like it. Least, that's the way I see it." The silver in his ears gleamed in the moonlight, "and secondly, yes, it's crack. Why?"

"That stuff's bad for you." She mumbled, feeling idiotic.

"Well no kidding, sunshine, but the high... Oh man." He took a pull from the pipe and then paused, "if it makes you uncomfortable-"

"No. No, it's fine," she assured him, "It's your house, your habits. Don't stop on my account." 

"Ah, that's music to my ears, you telling me not to stop something." His smirk was positively predatory now.

 

"Twice in one day, John, really? You barely know me." 

"I know your name, and that you dropped out of college, have nowhere else to go, you work at Starbucks and you absolutely worshipped my cock earlier." He shrugged and she flushed scarlet.

"I suppose that's enough to go on." She smirked, "I'll be in bed waiting." 

 

She glanced back over her shoulder and blew him a kiss as she retreated to his bedroom, slipping off her sweatpants. His room was a mess, the walls decorated with a mixture of movie posters, record covers, and sketches. A few quotes were tacked on the wall; as she slid between the warm blanket she spied a shelf full of books, mostly history based and some literature. A faintly smoking ashtray was set on the bedside table atop a worn copy of Aristotle's Poetics. 

 

The pillow smelled like him; like pot and cinnamon. She was just getting comfortable when he returned, closing the door behind him. 

"Comfortable?" He asked, raising an eyebrow as he stripped off his clothing without seemingly any shame. 

"Mostly," she tried - and failed miserably - not to stare. 

 

"Scoot over." Wearing just his boxer briefs, he slid into the bed beside her, "much warmer with you here. Don't worry, I'm not expecting anything, sunshine. You wanna just sleep and be stoned, I'm cool with that." 

"Thanks," she mumbled, her face buried in his shoulder. Added to the familiar pot smell was a slightly sweeter, faintly chemical smell. She wondered if she would taste it on his lips if she kissed him. It doesn't take her long to find out; John, it turns out, is particularly handsy and affectionate. She suspects he likes making people feel wanted and loved, and with his kind of charisma, looks, and experience, it's very hard to NOT feel that way. 

 

As she suspected, his breath is sweet and a little chemical-tasting as his tongue dances with hers. 

"John?" She asks, a little light headed. 

"Mm?" 

"How'd you learn to kiss like that?" 

"Practise. Lots, and lots, of practice," he smirks and she laughs.

"You do have a ridiculously kissable face." 

 

"See, people say that, so I believe it, but I don't really see the appeal." He runs his fingers through the short side of her hair and she shivers, snuggling in closer. 

"Bullshit," she mumbles, "you're sexy as fuck and you know it." 

"Alright, guilty." He says. "But I don't think it's my face that makes me sexy." 

"No?" She says lightly, "I agree to a certain extent. It's your face, your personality and the way you speak, hon." 

"So you're not turned off by the poor music taste and drug habit?" He raises an eyebrow and she can't help but think that it's more of a serious question than his tone implies. 

"Absolutely not." She says firmly, "now go to sleep. We both have work in the morning."


	5. John

Capable's shift starts before he feels like opening the record store, so he orders a vanilla latte and settles in a chair near the counter so he can talk to her between customers. He's just playing around on an app on his phone when he spies a familiar silhouette. He's not about to say anything, but unfortunately he's been spotted.

"Hancock." The man speaking is around his height, with amber eyes and wavy brown hair half hidden under a hat. He wears a shirt and tie with braces, a cigarette pack protruding from his pocket. Alright, so he's handsome. 

"Detective." He's glad he's wearing a less obscene shirt today, plain black under a flannel shirt. 

"Keeping yourself out of trouble?" Detective Nick Valentine asked. It was hard to take him seriously when he wasn't exactly that old; the stress of the job had prematurely turned his sideburns silver, but he was probably only in his mid thirties.

"You'd know about it." John snickered, "come to arrest me again?"

"No, actually. Behave yourself. Go do your job, Johnathan. I'd rather not have to arrest you for lurking." 

"Loitering," John corrected, "that would be, loitering, detective."

"Whatever, Johnathan. Stay out of trouble." 

John glanced over at Capable to find her eyes fixated on the newcomer. Smirking to himself, avoiding the twinge of jealousy, he stood, stretched, and headed next door.


	6. Nick

For the third day that week, as he'd done every day for the last three weeks, Nick Valentine walked into the local Starbucks, ignoring the loud thumping music from the record store next door. He didn't want to have to raid the place again, but considering he'd once found the owner of the place smoking crack behind it... He sighed. John McDonough was wasted potential. 

 

As usual, the same barista - the little brunette girl who was always laughing and joking with John - was at the counter, her usual smile brightening considerably when she saw him. 

"Hey detective," she smiled and he couldn't help but consider what that word would sound like if she moaned it. Mentally smacking himself for the lewd thought, he smiled at her.

 

"Hey, Capable. Usual, please." 

"Double shot cappuccino and three sugars?" She checked as she usually did.

"That's right."

"That's a lot of caffeine," she commented, "ever considered red bull?"

"Trying to quit smoking, actually." Nick told her, "pain in the ass."

 

"Oh." She shuddered, "yeah screw that. Here," she handed him the steaming coffee, "have a great day detective. Will I see you tomorrow morning?" 

He paused for a moment. How long had it been since he'd been on a date? Or asked a girl out? Three years? He sighed. Worst that could happen would be she'd say no. Taking off his hat and mussing his hair, he took a deep breath.

 

"Actually, I was wondering if you'd like to go out tonight." 

"Like... A date?"

"Uh- yeah. Kind of." He rubbed his neck.

"Well, gee whiz, detective, thought you'd never ask." She smiles and scribbles a phone number and address onto a card. 

"I'll pick you up at seven," he says with a faint smile; doffing his hat, he heads out of the coffee shop, feeling her eyes burn into him as he leaves. God, she's cute. He's fairly sure she's ten years younger than him, at least, but she's been making his days a little brighter. There are coffee shops closer to the office, but he's been going to her Starbucks every day for three weeks, just to see her. If he wasn't so sure she liked him back, he'd think he was being a bit creepy. Only, she has been flirting back, and she said yes to his invitation. 

 

Well, shit. Getting into his car, Nick sighs and hopes he still knows how to talk to girls.


	7. Capable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Capable meets Nick for the evening.

Capable turned in front of the mirror awkwardly. She wasn't used to dressing up; kicking off the only pair of heels she owned, she switched them for more comfortable flat shoes. There was no way she was going out in the heels: she would fall over, and she didn't want to embarrass herself in front of Nick Valentine. 

 

She hadn't been on a date since high school. She didn't really consider the night she'd moved into the house with John, Deacon and MacCready a 'date'. Her relationship with John was still confusing; they hung out either at her work or his record store most days. Sometimes he slept in her room, sometimes she slept in his. They hadn't had sex in a week, and Capable was starting to think that she had been merely another distraction, another lover discarded. At least they were friends. She had decided a few days ago that if the handsome detective who flirted with his eyes and sensual voice asked her on a date, she would say yes. 

 

She wanted something stable. Or so she thought. And maybe the more grounded, sensible detective would be a better match for her. Sighing, she picked up her phone and purse, heading for the kitchen to wait.

"Damn, sunshine. Lookin' good." John, wearing sweatpants and nothing else, was standing at the stove, frying eggs and bacon, a blunt between his lips, hair piled up on his head. 

 

"Thanks," she smiled faintly, "figured I should make an effort for this date."

"You have a date, huh? Who's the lucky douche bag?" 

"He's not a douche bag. Or at least, doesn't seem like one. You know Nick Valentine? The detective who comes by?"

"Oh, great," John rolled his eyes, "you mean the guy who busted me for possession?" 

"That's your own fault." She scolded him; hearing a knock at the door she turned, "don't wait up." 

 

She ignored his obscene gesture and headed for the door. She takes a deep breath before opening it; she's not exactly afraid of him, more afraid of embarrassing herself or that he won't like her. 

 

"I wasn't aware you lived here," he's in a clean shirt, still wearing the braces and a black tie that matches his pants. He's brushed his hair and lost the hat, but he still looks the way she's accustomed to seeing him.

"I needed some place to stay," she says with a shrug, closing the door behind her, "John and his friends offered."

"Kind of them," he says, opening the car door for her. She has to bite back a smile. Is he jealous? It's cute.

 

"They're good friends," she subtly emphasises the last word, notices a small smile cross his face briefly, "but that's... All there is there, I think. I - crap. I just wanted you to know that. That I wouldn't be here with you if I was sleeping with John."

"Well, I appreciate the transparency, doll," he jokes, lighting a cigarette. 

"Thought you were quitting?" 

"Hard to when I'm nervous," he shrugs and she finds that vaguely endearing, that he admits to it. 

 

"Aw I won't bite," she smiles; she can't help the flirtatious tone that creeps into her voice. She doesn't usually go for cops, but she's pretty sure he's a private investigator who occasionally liaisons with the actual police. She hasn't thought to ask, so she does. He confirms her thoughts. 

 

"So how is it you busted John for possession?"

"Used to be a regular cop. Still have my badge, just don't like using it." He shrugs.

"Makes sense," she shrugs, "so where are we going anyway?"

"I hope you like surprises." He says with a faint smile.

"Funny that," she says, "happens that I do."


	8. Nick

Nick Valentine hasn't had sex in almost a year. Saying that, it's not like he's forgotten how. He just wasn't expecting a girl at least ten years his junior to like him so much. He knew the whole concept of going to a movie at the drive in theatre might be a bit old fashioned, but she hadn't complained at all. Honestly, his intentions hadn't been sexual. Well. At least, not at the front of his mind anyway. But hell, now that she's here, pressed up between his chest and the wall, her mouth hungry on his.... Well, he's not going to complain. 

 

His fingers trace up her thighs, up under the hem of the dress she's wearing. She squirms closer, kissing him harder. He can't remember the last time a girl kissed him so hungrily; still. He's not complaining. Actually, he's about as far from complaining as one man can get. Her fingers trace the buttons on his shirt, as though asking permission. In answer, he slides a finger through the waistband of her lace panties. She moans against his mouth, making short work of his shirt buttons. For a moment he's afraid she might recoil when she sees the scar on his chest, so close to his shoulder. The bullet that almost took his arm off. Her fingers are exploring his chest freely, but she halts when she reaches the scar. 

 

"What happened to you?" She breathes, looking almost horrified. Not, he realises, at the wound, but at the fact that someone hurt him.

"Well, guess you know why I work desk cases now." He says simply. She looks him right in the eye as best she can as she leans in and presses a soft kiss to the scar. He knows it's hideous, or at least, that's what he thinks. The moment her lips touch it, he rethinks his stance on it. Or rather, considers rethinking his stance on the scar later. He's a little caught up in her right now; the kiss has sparked something in him, a primal, raw need. 

 

He's glad his apartment is reasonably small; it only takes them a few steps to make it to the bedroom, both of them shedding their remaining clothing along the way. As soon as she's on the bed, he settles himself comfortably between her legs, kissing languidly along her thighs. He's so ready to just plunge into her, but he knows it's not really polite to do so without foreplay. And God, did he love foreplay. He firmly grips her hips, pulling her closer and doing a brilliant job of making it very difficult for her to squirm. He licks lazily along her slit, tasting her arousal on the tip of his tongue. She gasps, fingers tangling into the sheets of his bed, then his hair. He hums approval against her sensitive folds, spurred on by her answering moan. 

 

He sucks on her clit slowly, lapping up the moisture that forms between her thighs, ignoring the dull throb in his now fully hard cock. She's squirming and writhing beneath him; he only has to trace one finger slowly along her slit for her to cum, moaning loudly. In one slow, languid lick, he laps up her release, making a show of licking his lips as he moves up her body, kissing her pert nipples before burying his face in her shoulder. Wrapping her legs around his waist, he kisses her neck slowly. 

 

"Nick," she whimpers; he's rubbing the swollen head of his cock along her dripping sex, using every bit of self control he has.

"Hm?"

"Please, detective," she moans softly and he's lost; before she can speak again he slides into her in one slow, powerful thrust. She moans and arches her back against him, lifting her hips in a silent plea to continue. He had expected to need to pause for a moment; she's quite a bit smaller than him, and so tight that the pressure almost hurts. He groans low in his throat as she tightens around him again, encouraging him to start thrusting shallowly. 

 

Her nails dig into his back gently, one hand scrabbling for purchase in the sheets as his hips snap against hers. God, it's been so long since a woman has screamed his name so loud. He groans, feeling her clench around him. She's going to cum again, he realises, and he's almost ashamed to admit how close he is. It's been so long, after all, and he can't help himself when she clenches around him again; the sudden wetness of her release triggers his own. He knows he should pull out of her, knows it's a stupid idea, but she's so warm and wet and tight, and before he can stop himself he's groaning her name, spilling his hot seed inside her, his cock pulsating almost agonisingly. 

 

"I'm sorry," he gasps out as soon as he can breathe. She, however, reaches between them, her fingers coming back slick with both their cum. Looking him right in the eyes, she licks her fingers clean. 

"Jesus," he almost groans as he pulls out of her; that little gesture has him almost half hard again already. She smirks at him, leaning up to kiss him slowly; he can taste them both on her tongue. It's going to be a very, very long night.


	9. Capable

Capable had barely stepped into her room before John comes hammering on her door. 

"What?" She asks as she tugs on jeans and a t-shirt. 

"You didn't come home last night." John isn't as subtle at jealousy as Nick. She turns to face him, instantly regretting it when she realises that he's only wearing sweatpants, slung low on thin hips. He's so thin. Does he ever eat?

She shrugs, "I was occupied," before he can retort, she adds, "kitchen."

 

Trailing behind him, Capable raids the fridge for bread, eggs, and bacon, setting a pan on the stove while he watches.

"What are you doing?" John asks, clearly perplexed.

"Cooking."

"Why?" His confused tone still stays in place.

"You're too skinny. Do you ever eat?" 

 

"Sometimes I forget," he admits as she tips bacon into the pan; creeping up behind her, he wraps thin, freckled arms around her. 

"What are you doing, John?" She sighs. 

"You looked cold." He lies. She can tell he's lying because the sentence ends like a question. 

"John-"

 

"Is he better than me?" He blurted out, reddish hair tickling her neck. 

"We are so not having this conversation!" Capable exclaimed, shovelling food into a plate and handing it to him, "shut up and eat."

"If I eat this, can we talk about it?"

"I guess," she sighed; anything to get him to eat something. He was so thin. She was sure it was from drug use, but that didn't stop her from worrying. Although she knew he was stronger than he looked, she didn't like the idea that he was underfed.

 

She was barely halfway through her coffee when he cleared his throat. 

"Okay," she sighed, "before you ask again, no, John, he isn't better than you. He's just different." 

"Well that's good to know, sunshine," he returns from dropping his plate into the sink, bending down to brush his mouth against her ear, "but I meant better in bed."

Capable almost dropped her cup. "That really is none of your business."

"Aww, come on, sunshine," he purred, "look me in the eye and tell me he can make you scream like I can." 

Of course, she couldn't, because sure, Nick was very talented, and he'd made her feel damn good, but he hadn't gotten the reaction from her that John did. 

"Didn't think so." He pressed a kiss to her cheek, "you're going to be late, by the way." 

She swore, jumping to her feet. He was right.


	10. John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's jealousy prompts the beginning of some positive shifts in behaviour.

One of the perks of owning the store was he didn't have to go in if he didn't want to. And today was definitely a 'didn't want to' day. He fished a cigarette out of the packet on the table - Capable had left hers behind - and trekked down the hall, ignoring the sound of a shooter video game coming from Mac and Deacon's room. He was fairly sure that while Deacon was at work, Mac, too, was doing a bunk. 

 

Settling on the porch, he lit the cigarette and swore under his breath. Damn girl was confusing the hell out of him, going on dates and sleeping with hot detectives one minute, then making him food and making sure he ate it the next. 

Understanding made him smirk. She was trying to make him jealous. However, that thought was chased by a slightly more unpleasant thought; if he didn't DO something, Valentine would win her over. How could he not? He was a lot less rough around the edges than John. He had a steady job. No drug addictions. Probably hadn't had a string of lovers and a fucked up family either. 

 

"How the hell am I supposed to compete with that?" He muttered, collecting the mail and shuffling back inside; a mountain of dishes had accumulated on the sink and bench tops. A glance at Mac's door told him that his friend probably wouldn't resurface for a few hours. Usually, it was Capable or Deacon who cleaned the kitchen. Amongst the piles, John found soap and a brush. Well, it wasn't some romantic date or anything, but it was a start. 

 

It took him three hours - with five breaks for cigarettes and a blunt - to get the kitchen spotless. Capable would be finishing work soon. It briefly occurred to him to take a shower and change into something vaguely resembling clothes - ripped jeans, plaid shirt, black t-shirt - before he slouched out of the house. 

It was at least a twenty minute walk, but he was hoping she would be happy to see him, at least. 

 

He was just finishing a cigarette when he arrived, scowling when he saw the increasingly familiar black car belonging to a certain detective. 

"For fucks sake," he muttered, ashing the cigarette with the heel of his shoe as he pushed open the door. Sure enough, there was the offensive man in question. Trying to appear nonchalant, he approached the counter, trying not to feel smug at the way her eyes lit up at the sight of him.

 

"John! What are you doing here?" She asked. 

"Came to get you. See if you wanted to get lunch or something." He wasn't particularly hungry, having long since learnt how to fend off the munchies, but he knew the idea would appeal to her considering her prior comments about how skinny he was. She looked delighted, but then momentarily regretful as she turned to Valentine.

 

"Rain check, Nick? Sorry, I kind of... Need to make sure this one eats." She shrugged apologetically. Internally, John fist pumped the air. 

"Not a problem, doll. I'll text you later tonight?"

"That'd be nice," she smiled and waved as the detective took his leave. Smiling broadly at John, she spoke, "thanks for coming to see me. Let me just clock out and then we can go." 

"I'm at your service, sunshine," John smirked, more than a little satisfied when she giggled. He sent a mental 'screw you' in the handsome detective's direction. He didn't need to be rich or fancy or whatever. Capable liked him for him. Or. So he hoped.


	11. Capable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Netflix and chill?

Having John turn up at the shop at the end of her shift had been a pleasant surprise. Capable only felt a little bad for turning down Nick's invitation. Somehow, she felt that he didn't have a problem forgetting when he was hungry. 

"Did you walk all the way here?" She asked, suddenly struck by the thought. He shrugged and she sighed, comfortably linking her fingers with his and leading him across the street to a cafe. 

 

"I still can't believe you ditched Valentine to hang with me," John said and she laughed. 

"It's hardly ditching, we didn't make plans, and you walked all the way from home. I wasn't exactly gonna send you back home, was I?" She rolled her eyes, "this place does great burgers, by the way." 

 

"With pickles?" 

"Well, yeah, it's not a burger without pickles." Capable enthused.

"You like pickles?"

"Duh." She laughed, "especially when I'm baked." 

He joined in laughing, ordering the same as her. 

 

"You want to watch a movie or something when we get home?" John asked, mouth full of burger.

"Sure," she nodded, a little surprised by the offer, "what do you have in mind?" 

John shrugged, "you pick." 

 

When they had finished eating, they walked back to Capable's car, which was mostly on its last legs. It took around five minutes for the engine to sound remotely pleased to see them; the drive home was slow and cautious. 

"I should sell this thing for parts," Capable sighed as they pulled into the driveway. 

"Wouldn't you miss it?" John asked. 

"Yeah," she nodded, slamming the door, "guess that's why I'll keep it around until it craps out on me." 

 

She flopped onto the couch, kicking blankets out the way and cycling through the movies on Deacon's hard drive. The aforementioned guy seemingly had no issue with Internet piracy. Selecting a trashy zombie movie, she waited for John to settle beside her, blunt between his lips, popcorn bowl in hands. 

"Good choice." He commented upon seeing the tv screen, passing her the popcorn bowl. Instead, she snagged the blunt from his mouth, taking a long drag before placing it back between his lips. 

"Rude," he smirked, flicking popcorn at her as on-screen, the movie opened with a hoarde of zombies attempting to catch and devour a fleeing group of survivors. 

 

"Why pick such a crappy movie?" He asked twenty minutes in, setting the bowl on the crowded coffee table; the zombie to gored remains ratio was considerably high. 

"Because I wasn't really intending on watching it," Capable informed him, shifting into his lap effortlessly.

"Oh," he smirked, "so all this was just a ploy to get into my pants, huh, babe?" 

"Maybe." She shrugged, "maybe I just..." She leaned in and kissed him instead of finishing the sentence. That was easier than explaining that she wanted to see whether her heart still raced when his hands were on her. It turned out that, yes, in fact, it did. Sighing against his mouth, she let him pull her closer, his hands balling in the hem of her shirt.


	12. John

It's comfortable on the couch, the recliner parts out, blankets covering them both. Capable is dozing with her head on his chest, hair tickling his skin. He ties his hair back with the elastic from his wrist, looking down at her with a slight smile on his face. 

 

The moment doesn't last long, though. 

"Jesus, Hancock, public place!" MacCready complains, averting his eyes on his way to the refrigerator, wearing just a singlet and batman underwear.

"Right. Because you've never done it on this couch before. Ever." John rolled his eyes at his friend. 

 

"Who's done what on the couch?" Capable stirred, brushing her hair out her eyes and peering blearily up at John.

"Mac and Deeks, and each other." John clarified. 

"Universal couch of fucking," Mac shrugged, heading back to his bedroom with the remains of a carton of milk in his hands. Capable rolled her eyes, dancing her fingers along John's ribs. He liked that gesture, if he was honest. It was intimate, in a completely different way to sexual intimacy. 

 

"You're so fucking beautiful, John," she sighed, fingers trailing up his chest and into his hair. 

"Cape. I'm a junkie. You don't have to lie." He sighed, half because he truly believed she was sweet talking, half because he wants her to reassure him, repeat herself. 

"John," she shakes her head, "I'm not lying." Her fingers run through his hair, pulling it out the loose knot, "you're beautiful. I mean it, I promise." 

He looked down at her, a small, genuine smile on his face. Before he could say thank you, she kissed him sweetly, soft hands cupping his face gently. 

 

"Cape," he started, "I've never really done the whole... Relationship thing before, but... I think I want to try that with you? If that... Would be okay?"

She beamed up at him. "That would be more than okay with me, John."


	13. Capable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Capable and John discuss his drug habits.

Exhausted from work, Capable curled under the blankets, waiting for John's warmth to envelope her. As per usual, he crawled into bed with the sweet, chemical scent lingering. Despite him being visibly happier of late, his drug use had remained constant and steady, and it worried her. She's afraid that one day, he'll take too much, or become too heavily reliant on it, and she'll lose him forever. She wasn't exactly sure when she'd started falling in love with him; maybe it was before her date with Nick Valentine, but now that she was? There was no way of stopping. 

 

"John?"

"Yeah, Cape?"

"Have you ever considered maybe... Trying to wean off the heavier stuff?" She hesitated a little when she said it, not wanting to upset or offend him. It was his choice, after all, she was just worrying about him. 

He sighed heavily. "Yeah, Cape, I have. A lot of times. It's just. Fucking hard." 

 

She hugged him tight. "I didn't mean to upset you, John. I'm just... I'm just worried about you, is all."

He blinked, either confused or high or both. "Concerned? About me?"

"Yeah," she sighed, nuzzling into him, "I just don't want you to hurt yourself." 

"I'll be fine, Cape, I promise." He paused, "I have the munchies." 

 

She giggled, reaching into the drawer beside the bed and tossing him a candy bar. She'd taken to keeping a stash, more than used to John's random munchies brought on by whatever the fuck he'd been smoking that day. 

"I'm sorry," he apologised. Capable hugged him again.

"Don't apologise. It's not your fault, John, nothing to be sorry for," she assured him, "you can't help it."

"I want to stop, Cape, honestly, I do. It's just... It's so fucking hard to just... Walk away, you know? I've tried to put down the pipe more times than I can count but... I just can't do it yet. I don't want you to walk away from me because of that..." He admitted in a small voice. 

 

"That's okay, John. You don't have to." She rubbed his back soothingly, "I'll be here and support you no matter what. I'm not gonna walk out on you for something you can't help. We all have our coping mechanisms. It's okay that yours comes with stigma. I'm not gonna judge you, John, I promise." She hugged him tight, "and when you decide it's time to quit... I'll help you, I promise that too." 

 

"What if I have to go to rehab?" He asked quietly.

"Then I'll visit as often as I can." She promised, "when you decide you wanna quit cocaine, I'll be here for you. We'll beat it together." 

"You mean that?"

"Of course I do. You're stuck with me," she smiled, nudging him. 

"You're gonna make me fat," he mumbled, eyes hazy and sleepy. 

"Well, you could do with a little bit of fat on you," she poked his ribs, lying back down next to him; their position shifted to reverse their usual - instead of her head on his chest, he rested his on hers. Soothingly, she ran her fingers through his hair, working out all the little knots that accumulated over the day. Within minutes, he was breathing evenly, fast asleep. 

 

She brushed his hair from his face, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. She wasn't privy to all of John's past - all she knew was his family had been abusive and he'd moved out young, and that he had always functioned a little differently - but she didn't care what potential skeletons he had in his proverbial closet. He was here now, with her. And despite having her own problems? She was going to help him when he eventually asked for it.


	14. John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More domestic bliss.

His head pounds a little when he opens one bleary eye, dragged back to consciousness by the smell of food. Incidentally, he can also hear the tv blaring from the living room. Internally cursing Mac and Deacon, John shoved his head under the pillow, cursing under his breath.

 

"Wakey wakey sleeping beauty," Capable's soft voice coaxes him out of his pillow and blanket burrito. He's fairly sure his hair is a rats nest, and he knows his eyes are squinty. Either way, he knows she won't mind. 

"Hrmmmm?" He grumbles and she laughs. The sound rattles in his head for a moment and he groans again. 

"C'mon, I've made food for you." Capable nudged him. 

 

"What kind?" 

"I made French toast." She waves the plate under his nose and he sits up, wincing slightly but accepting the food.

"Am I gonna be late for work?" He asks around a mouthful of food.

"Nah. It's still early." She smiles at him and he nods, though he speeds up his eating because, with her car out of commission, they'll be walking. 

 

"Thanks," he says, handing the now empty plate back to her, "I'm gonna hit the shower, okay?" 

She nods and heads back down to the kitchen; it takes him a second to clear his head before he treks down the hall to the bathroom, grateful that there's still some hot water left. He's only been in the shower a few moments when the bathroom door opens and familiar thin arms circle him. 

 

John smiles faintly as Capable rests her head on his back. 

"You okay?" She asks.

"Yeah. I'm good." He turns to face her, looking down at her through drenched hair, "better now I have a nice view, actually." 

She laughed, brushing his drenched hair away from his neck to kiss him. John liked that about her: that she paid attention to the places he was most sensitive, actually taking the time to understand what he liked. 

He never really thought anyone would bother; after his childhood and troubled youth, John had almost given up on actual affection. Perhaps that was why he had shunned relationships, preferring casual flings. Until now. Until her. 

 

"You've got that look on your face again, space cadet," her finger bops his nose and he grins; he likes the nicknames she gives him, even if half the time they're because he's perpetually stoned. 

"What look?" He asks, "the one where I'm looking down at the most beautiful girl in the world and wondering why she's mine?" 

He's very rarely able to say things like this; although John prides himself on his sweet talk, it's usually of the filthy nature. As soon as he says it though, he knows he means it. Maybe she does, too, because as soon as he says it she's on her toes, leaning in and kissing him. 

Yeah, he thinks, he could get used to this.


	15. Capable

Neither Capable nor John have the coordination required for sex in a shower, but that's not about to stop them from trying. The cool tile wall presses against her as she leans against it, her legs locked around her lover's waist. Her fingers are tangled in his drenched hair, her lips parted in an expression of almost pure ecstasy as he mouths at her neck, his hips grinding into hers slowly. The slow pace doesn't stop the conveyance of desperation, though, even if it is mostly through words and breathy moans. 

 

"John..." She gasps, tugging on his hair as he thrusts particularly deep into her, grunting a curse word. He laughs at her sharp intake of breath.

"Too hard?" He asks, pausing for the briefest moment. 

"God no," she pants, "please don't stop..." 

He laughs again, a low chuckle in her ear, "Course not, sunshine." 

 

She kisses him hungrily, gently tugging him closer by his hair, one of her hands resting on his back, nails digging into his shoulder lightly. He can't help it; he groans low in his throat as he releases inside her, burying his face in her shoulder.

"Fuck..." He mumbles, looking more than a little embarrassed as he pulls out of her, setting her down gently, "sorry..."

"It's okay," Capable smiles, because getting off is nice but not necessary, "God... That was nice."

 

He smirks down at her. "I'm not done yet."   
She blinks, freezes as he starts kissing down her body, seemingly oblivious to the water. 

"John? What are you-?" She's cut off by his tongue licking along her slit, tasting his own release on her skin. He doesn't seem to mind, and that in itself is a ridiculously erotic gesture. His fingers grip her thighs as he delves back into her, his tongue probing and tasting every inch of her he can reach. 

 

She moans, her head dropping back against the wall as he sucks her clit until her legs tremble; seemingly picking up on this, he lifts one of her legs onto his shoulder, moaning against her slick opening as her wetness drips onto his tongue as she cums. With an almost greedy vigor, he laps up her release. 

"God," he murmurs once he's on his feet, licking his lips, "you taste so fucking good. So sweet and wet..." He cups her now aching crotch and kisses her deeply before turning the water off. "I'm gonna start calling you after all kinds of dessert." 

Blushing furiously, she watches him slip out of the shower with a smirk on his face, drying off and throwing on the clean clothes she brought him. 

"So," he says, "gonna just stand there? Or don't you have work today too?" 

Inwardly cursing him and his damn ability to fuddle her brain, Capable hops out the shower, still a little shaky.


	16. John

John's in a daze all day that has nothing to do with the blunt he smoked on the way to work and everything to do with Capable. All day, his mind has been on her. On that morning. The fact that she's just next door, so within reach, is extremely frustrating. It's around lunchtime and he's considering closing the store and just going home, when the bell over the door rings and a familiar face peers over the counter at him - he's sitting on the floor putting price tags on new shipments of CDs. 

 

"Well, well," a lazy smile crosses his face, "if it isn't my favorite cherrypie." He's making good on his earlier comment about calling her different desserts as a nickname. He gets the desired reaction, too; she blushes bright red and mumbles a 'shut up' as she hops the counter, sitting beside him. 

"You finished up next door, huh?" 

"Yeah," she produces a paper bag from her denim backpack, "I brought you food. Thought you might like the help around here." 

 

"Well it does get boring," he nods, taking the sandwich she offers him, "what's on this, by the way?" 

"Steak and ranch." She says around a mouthful of her own food. He grins at her; it's the little things like this - her remembering his sandwich preferences (right down to the grain bread) - that makes him grateful to have her around. He sets the food aside for later. 

"Well, damn," he says, "you're just a real keeper." 

 

She beams at him. 

"Keep saying that and you'll have to take me to meet your parents." She smiles.

"Absolutely fucking not." He says forcefully, startling her. He thinks of his mother, beaten into silence by his father. His father and brother with their fists and cold words. Five minutes in a room with Capable and they'd tear her apart. It's his job to keep her safe from that. 

"Sorry..." She says in a small voice, "I only meant-"

 

"Cape." He pinches the bridge of his nose, "it's not you. Trust me. They'd hurt you, or they'd try and turn you against me." He hates talking about it. Hates the memories that he fights and uses so heavily to keep at bay, "my father and my brother. They used to beat me and my mother. My mom took off when I was sixteen. Didn't even bother to take me with her. She just... Left me there with them. I don't want you anywhere near them, Cape." 

 

She hugs him tightly. "John... I'm so, so sorry... You didn't deserve that..." 

"Can I ask a favour?"

"Anything, honey, anything."

"Can I just... Be alone for a bit? I hate talking about it. Just... Let me close up and I'll meet you at home, okay?"

She hesitates, then nods. 

"Okay, hon, anything you need." She kisses his forehead, standing slowly before heading out with a wave; he hates how concerned she looks. He didn't want to worry her.

 

He waits until he's certain she's out of sight of the place before he heads into the back room, rummaging through his canvas bag with shaky hands. Fuck, he hates talking about that shit. Not like she didn't deserve to know, of course, but... Still. Fuck. He retrieves his target - a tiny plastic ziplock bag with a reasonable amount of fine white powder. He hasn't snorted cocaine in years. He just needs the rush, needs to focus on the high instead of the memories. His hand and arm twitch on reflex; he can still remember the feeling of his arm breaking when he tried to defend himself. In a panic, he dumps almost the entire contents of the bag onto the nearest surface, inhaling fast. It doesn't take long for his mind to go numb.


	17. Capable

She dials his number for the fifth time, and for the fifth time she goes to voicemail. He said he would be home soon, that he would be right behind her. That was almost two hours ago. On the verge of panic, Capable hits dial on a different number.

"Capable?"

"Nick, thank god." She has to force herself not to cry, "I think somethings happened to John... Can you check on him? He said he would be home hours ago and I think something's happened..."

"Okay, Capable, deep breaths." She can hear a car engine accelerating, "I'll be outside your place in five." 

 

In the time it takes him to show up, she dials John's phone three more times. She has to force herself not to on the drive over to the store, knowing that redialling won't do any good. 

"What happened?" Nick asks as he drives. 

"We had... A conversation. About his family. It's kind of private."

"I won't pry. And he seemed... Agitated?" 

"A little? Why?"

"A feeling. Come on." They left the car and hurried into the still unlocked record store, ignoring the "do not disturb" sign on the door. 

 

"John?" She hurries to the back room, knowing that's his usual haunt. He's conscious, but barely: his breathing is shallow, gaze unfocused. She's about to ask him what he took, but the remnants of white powder on the table are enough. 

"Keep him awake." Nick's voice is dimly registered, "I'm calling an ambulance." 

Clasping John's pale face in her hands, thumbs stroking his cheeks soothingly, she tries not to shake. She's dimly aware of Nick brushing the remnants of the powder into a small bag, going into the tiny bathroom off the storeroom and flushing the bag. It registers that she should thank him for that later- he might be on desk duty, but Nick is still a cop. He could still have gotten John in shit for that. Maybe he thinks his present condition is punishment enough. 

 

"Come on, honey, stay awake." She pleads, feeling his pulse accelerate, "you're gonna be just fine." 

It feels like hours before Nick's hand is on her shoulder. "Paramedics are here." 

Capable is pretty sure that someone's asking her questions, but she's too preoccupied not wanting to let go of his hand, so Nick deals with the paramedics smoothly. When John starts shaking, they tell her she's not allowed in the ambulance, despite her begging and crying. 

"Come on," Nick wraps his arms around her, "we'll follow in the car." 

She lets him drag her over to the car. She's shaking so hard that he has to do her safety belt for her. 

"Fuck this traffic..." Nick mutters, flipping a button. Capable is suddenly very glad he's driving a patrol car. The sirens wail as Nick hits the accelerator. Capable sits in silence, chewing her nails and willing John to be okay.


	18. Nick

He's never seen her so unsettled. Pacing, shaking, mumbling what he thinks may be prayers until the doctor enters the room. 

"Is he okay?" The faint note of hysteria creeps into Capable's tone. 

"We managed to flush the drug from his system and stop the seizures. Right now, we're keeping him in overnight for observation. He's extremely lucky to be alive."

"S-so he'll be okay?"

"Yes, I suppose," the doctor shook her head, "I would be talking to your boyfriend about rehabilitation." She turned to Nick, "good job bringing him in, Valentine."

"Thanks, Amari." Nick hovered by the door, watching Capable approach the other man. 

 

"John?"

"Yeah, sunshine, right here." 

"You scared the hell out of me!" She protested, "I'm so sorry... I should never have left you alone..."

"Hey, hey." The blonde man held up his hands, wincing at the IV needle in his hand, "none of that, I'm the one that told you to go on home, and I'm the idiot that took too much."

"You almost died..." Capable's voice is barely above a whisper. 

"Yeah... But I didn't." Whether it was the faint smugness in his tone or the nonchalance of his attitude, something incensed Nick.

 

"That's a damn selfish attitude to take, Hancock. You have any idea what it would do to this poor girl if you died?" 

"Valentine? What the fuck are you doing here? God, don't tell me you were fucking or something." 

"I didn't know who else to call... You didn't come home and I couldn't get there fast enough..." Capable explained.

 

Hancock eyed Nick for a moment. "Guess I owe you, then."

"If she hadn't called me, you'd be dead." Nick couldn't help the sternness of his tone. 

"Right. So I guess you're loitering to clap me in irons as soon as I get released?" E snark in the younger man's tone was prevalent. 

"No. I think you've learned your lesson. I was loitering, as you put it, to make sure Capable didn't freak out waiting in a hospital alone." 

 

"Guys, can you have the pissing contest later, please?" Capable's eyes narrowed.

"Sure, cherrypie." Hancock rolled his eyes. Nick noticed her face turn bright red but decided against commenting or asking. Some things just weren't his business. 

"I'll be off, then. Call me if you need anything, Capable." Nick turned his steely gaze on Hancock. "And you, take better care of yourself. If not for your own sake then for hers." 

In a decidedly foul mood, Nick turned his back and left the hospital room.


	19. Capable

At around eight in the evening, a nurse comes in and tells Capable she'll have to leave. 

"He'll be discharged in the morning, dearie, don't you worry." The older woman smiled reassuringly. 

"Thank you..." Capable kissed the now-sleeping John on the forehead, picking up her bag and heading out. 

 

Knowing that Deacon and MacCready had probably eaten, she stopped at Taco Bell on the way home. She wasn't particularly hungry, but she knew that if John was with her, he'd nag her to eat something. She ate her burrito in the restaurant before heading home. 

 

As soon as she pushed open the front door, she dropped her bag. It had been a damn long day. She was just in the process of texting Nick to let him know she was home when she heard the sounds emitting from Deacon and Mac's room. 

"Fuck yes, daddy, give it to me!" 

Flushing furiously red, Capable smacked their closed door with her hand on her way to John's room. Well, it was more like their room, considering she slept in it, but her belongings were still in the other room. 

 

Ignoring the muffled laughter from down the hall, she closed the bedroom door, stripping down to her underwear and pulling on John's favorite shirt. It smelled like him - pot and soap and cheap cologne. Curling up on his side of the bed, her face burrowed in the pillow, she reached for the book on his side table. Before long, she was welcoming sleep, comforted by the familiar scents around her. 

 

She didn't sleep well; when she woke, it was early, and she had to calm herself. Reminding herself that John was fine, she lay awake for a while before surfacing. Dressing in ripped jeans and her favorite obscene shirt, Capable combed her fingers through her hair before heading out of the room. 

Unsure whether John would want Mac and Deacon to know what had happened, she merely waved at them on her way out, scooping up her bag and heading for the bus stop.


	20. MacCready

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MacCready introduces himself and becomes more friendly with Capable

He needs a job. Maybe if he gets a job, there's a chance he and Deacon might get custody of Duncan, although he doubts it. His son is four, and lives with Lucy's mother. Ever since the accident, since Mac couldn't bring himself to cope. So here he is, twenty two years old, living in a share house with his two best mates and a girl he has barely bothered to get to know. 

 

He's glad they don't keep alcohol in the house. Glad nobody ever asks him to drive. It wasn't his fault, but if he'd been there, instead of at home with Duncan, if they'd had a car... Maybe she wouldn't have been walking home. Maybe the drunk driver would have hit someone else. Or a tree. God, it's too early for this. He considers calling Deacon, getting him to come home early, but it's Tuesday and that means Deacon is flat out busy at the Youth Centre he runs. Sometimes Mac goes and helps, but it's damn hard to hang out with kids when he knows his own son probably misses him. If he even remembers him. It's been two years. 

 

When he first moved into the house with Deacon and John, he mostly kept to himself, playing video games and eating crap food every day. He's not sure when Deacon started feeding him, when John started joining in on multiplayer video games. When he first got with Deacon, he was pleasantly surprised at how normal it felt. He was pleased to have something resembling stability. 

He hears the front door open, feet down the hallway. 

"Get some sleep," he hears Capable's voice, "I'll bring you some soup."

 

Taking the opportunity for a distraction, he heads into the kitchen. 

"Need help?" He asks. He hasn't really seen her a lot- either she's working or he's in his room, so it's high time they made friends in his opinion. 

"Sure," she's short, he notices, half her hair shaved, her earrings odd, "can you cut up this chicken?"

He nods, gets to work slicing up the already cooked meat. 

"Is John okay?" He blurts out suddenly.

"He is now," she hesitates for a minute, "he's just tired."

 

"What happened?" He's prying now, but John is his friend. 

"Ahh, just a little too much of my good friend cocaine," John's leaning against the door frame, lazy smile in place. 

"You should be in bed." Capable points her wooden spoon at him, "go." 

He does, leaving Mac staring after him for a moment before he turns to the girl at the stove. 

"He took an overdose?"

"It was an accident. I wasn't there. I won't be making that mistake again." 

 

For a moment he isn't sure what to say. 

"It wasn't your fault." He assures her. 

"If I'd been there, it wouldn't have happened."

"Yeah but he sent you away, it's not your fault. Trust me." 

She smiles at him faintly. 

"Thanks, I really appreciate that." 

 

"Want to play a game?" 

She raises an eyebrow. "Sure. What kind?" 

"Mario Kart?"

She grins. "If you don't mind getting your ass kicked."

"In your dreams, mungo."


	21. John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and the gang hang out together; Capable learns more about Deacon's job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to transhancock on tumblr for kindly going over this chapter and making sure none of it contains incorrect/problematic language.

He's known Capable long enough to know there's very little point in arguing with her when she's annoyed, so he just accepts his bowl of soup and shuts up. He's still a little tired, but she's not mad at him. So that's a bonus. She doesn't get mad when he sneaks into the living room, either. Just scoots over and lets him sit beside her. She drapes the blanket around him and he sighs. 

 

"Cape. I'm fine." 

She fixates him with a steely glare; MacCready is decent enough to pause the game while she glares.

"You. Were having. Seizures. On the fucking floor." She says pointedly, "I'm allowed to be concerned." 

 

He shuts up, mostly because he's not used to that at all - someone being concerned about him. Sure, Mac and Deacon check on him to make sure he's not off his head, but since Capable's been around, he's been more looked after. More comfortable. He likes the feeling, if he's honest. It's new, and he likes it. Even if she is being a little overbearing. He can tell it's only because he worried her. He feels guilty about that; he ponders it as he watches Capable and Mac play Mario Kart. He's on the verge of telling them he's going to quit crack when the front door opens, revealing Deacon. 

 

"Working hard!" Deacon chucks his sunglasses onto the crammed coffee table, hopping the couch to sit comfortably next to MacCready. Capable tries not to look too fascinated when the pair kiss with pure affection. She's obviously not seen a lot of openly gay dudes. 

"So, how was corrupting the day's youth?" John snickers. Capable blinks questioningly. 

"I run a youth centre for troubled kids, but on certain days I do a group for LGBT kids. I mean, there's more genders and sexualities than those four, but that's the short version."

"Sounds like you're helping the youth, not corrupting them," Capable lights a cigarette. Deacon snickers.

 

"Depends how you look at it. The church next door? Doesn't look so kindly on it." He stretched, "Not that I really give a fuck. Though that time they tried to set cops on me was... Interesting. Funny, actually, the local police chief started letting his son come along after he heard about it that way. It was good, actually. Kid needed to meet some other trans youth, he wasn't binding safely." 

"So, like, what do you do in groups?" John liked how curious and absorbed she was, questioning everything, devouring knowledge in pursuit of making better friends with his closest mates. 

 

"Mostly, we go around the group and each of the different groups of kids share tips or stories. I also get older volunteers in to help out. So like, I had a friend of mine in to show the trans kids how to bind properly. The amount of kids using bandages was... Really bad." Deacon sighed, "it's just... It's really important that these kids all have somewhere safe to go, to express themselves and be around other people their age who are dealing with similar things. It makes them feel less alone." 

"That sounds amazing." Capable inclined her head. 

 

"Thanks. We get a lot of funding from the government, but mostly I keep the place afloat on my own with the help of volunteers. We have special group meetings for the kids with dysphoria, too. Share tips about how to cope, like, in healthy ways. It has a real positive impact on the youth community. They get to come around, meet other people going through similar discoveries and changes, meet adults who have been there, done that... It gives them hope. Even if they come from a shitty family, they know that one day they'll be alright." 

"Wow." 

 

"Yeah, Deacon is one hell of a charitable bastard." John stretched lazily, "fun story, we met at one of those places." 

"A youth group?"

"Yep, eighteen year old homeless me wandered into one." John stretched, "okay so TECHNICALLY I was couch surfing at Mac's but... Yeah anyway. We made friends, got this dump together. The rest is history."

"Hey, this 'dump' has been our home for four years." Deacon grinned, "since my uncle sold it to us anyway. Old man lives out on a fishing boat nowadays. Hell of a way to retire." 

 

"You own this place?" Capable looked surprised. Deacon rolled his eyes at John.

"Don't you tell her anything, dude?" 

"I try to keep some secrets," John tapped his nose and winked. "Nothing damning, though. Cape knows all my dirty laundry. Well. Most of it." 

Ignoring the questioning look she threw him, he helped himself to a cigarette, grabbing the spare controller. 

"Room for another?"

"Always." Capable sighed, leaning against him.


	22. Capable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six months later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was partially beta read by transhancock on tumblr, who also helped me out with correct trans terminology. Thanks Angel :3

~SIX MONTHS LATER~

Capable yawned discreetly. She was getting exhausted from working, taking extra shifts only when she knew John would be at work too. His drug use hadn't really shifted - the pot she could handle, hell, she smoked it with him daily. But despite getting him into therapy, he had barely budged on the crack. She knew it wasn't his fault, but she was getting concerned and exhausted. He still wouldn't go to rehab, either. 

"Who will run my store?" He had asked. Every time, she had said that she would. He hadn't paid attention. She hated thinking about it, and the strain it had put on their relationship. She hadn't forgotten his overdose six months ago, and was constantly afraid it would happen again. She knew he was at least more careful than he had used to be, but that didn't stop her from worrying. 

"Hey," Piper waved a hand in front of her face, "Earth to Capable," she made static noises, "anyone home?" 

Piper had started working at the Starbucks with Capable a little over five months ago. She was still paying off her journalism degree, wrote for online newspapers, and, it turned out, was a friend of Deacon's. They had fast become good friends.

"Sorry, Piper, what were you saying? I bet it was important... I'm sorry..."

"Hey, it's okay, I getcha. You're worrying about John again, aren't you?" 

"Kinda..."

"Want me to cover you for a few so you can check on him?"

"I don't want him to feel like I'm overwhelming him..."

"Well he should've thought of that before he did something stupid. You're just worried. That's a good thing." Piper grinned wistfully, "anyway, I have huge news."

"Okay, hit me with it."

"I got approved for top surgery yesterday. I'm finally gonna have boobs. I'm so goddamn happy, Cape."

"Oh gosh Piper that's amazing. I'm so happy for you!" 

"Baby steps to being comfortable in my own skin." Piper beamed, "though I don't think I'll have bottom surgery, y'know? I kinda like my dick. I know it differs from woman to woman but I dunno... I kinda like it." 

Capable grinned, "I'm so glad you're getting the surgery. I'll bring you flowers!"

"Sweet. If you sneak me caffeine into the hospital I'll love you forever."

"I'll even bring Taco Bell." Capable promised. 

"We knock off in an hour, should we just take that boy of yours some food when we're done?" Piper suggested. She was what Capable called a mom friend - always making sure everyone had eaten enough, was hydrated and happy. 

"Yeah, probably..." 

"You mention rehab again?" Piper asked as they made coffee for the people waiting.

"Yeah, and he's still not budging." 

Capable understood that he was afraid, but she was certain that while he was still so reliant on illicit substances, he would never get better. His shrink had practically said the same thing. Numbing the trauma doesn't help treat it. 

"Give him time," Piper advised, "he'll get there eventually." She paused and then smacked her forehead. 

"What's wrong?" Capable asked, concerned. 

"It's just. I can't believe I didn't think of it sooner. I'm seeing this girl. Cait, her name is. She's in this support group, overcoming a heroin addiction. Maybe we should go along, with John?"

Capable could have hugged her. "Piper. That's a goddamn amazing idea. He might be okay with the idea..." 

"We can always ask."

\----------

An hour later, the two women and John were settled around a table at the cafe Capable had taken John to a few weeks after they'd met. 

"So anyway. This group? It's really good. Like it's not one on one and it's not like rehab." Piper finished speaking. John sighed. 

"Alright, fine, I'll come along. But if it's preachy, I'm leaving." 

"Nobody's gonna preach at you, John," Capable assured him, "I'm just worried about you. We all are." 

"Cape. I'll go, okay? If it makes you feel better." 

She sighed. He was missing the point. She didn't want him to do it to assuage her, but to help himself. 

"Are you okay?" She asked, hoping to change the subject. He was picking at his food.

"Store's gonna close down." John blurted out.

"What?"

"Not making enough profits and... You know." He looked ashamed, "I spend too much money on crack." 

"Oh, hon, I'm so sorry... Is there anything I can do?"

"Nope. I have three weeks to vacate. Fucked if I know what they'll put there instead. God, what am I gonna do?" 

"Could always come work with us?" Piper suggested pleasantly. 

"Nah I'm shit at barista work..." He grimaced, "look, if you really think this group might work..." He paused, "I need the help, Cape..." 

"I know, honey." Capable squeezed his hand reassuringly, "nothing's changed you know, I'm gonna help you through this." 

"She will. Anyhow, I'll pick you up tonight at six." Piper said.

They bid Piper goodbye and headed for home.

 

"You're really not gonna ditch me?" John asked.

"Of course not." Capable looked appalled, "God, John, you can't help it. I'm gonna help you get better, not dump you because you have a little addiction problem. Everyone's got baggage, you just handle yours in a destructive way." 

"I guess..." 

"Don't worry. It's going to be fine."

"Yeah? But what am I gonna do for a job?" He ran his hands through his hair.

"We'll figure it out." Capable assured him, "I'm sure Mac or Deacon will know someone if we can't find you a job. You have a few weeks, though..." 

"Yeah, but Cape... This is a huge step backwards. That store..."

"How behind on rent are you, exactly?" 

"Six grand..." 

"Christ, John..." Capable pinched her nose, "okay, well I guess that scraps the idea of paying it off..." Linking her arm with his, she smiled reassuringly, "we'll figure something out, okay? For now just try and focus on tonight. This is a big step."

He nodded. "Cape?"

"Yeah?"

"What if I can't do it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Quit. Coke, I mean." 

"Of course you can," she said firmly, "not right away, and it's not gonna be easy, but I reckon, with time... You'll be just fine." 

"You really believe in me, huh?"

"That's what girlfriends do. Incidentally... Is that my shirt?" 

He grinned. Under his blue plaid shirt was a very familiar t-shirt with an obscene slogan. 

"Maybe. You're wearing mine!" 

That was true. She was. 

"We're gross." She commented playfully. 

"You're gross," he retorted, sticking his tongue out at her before pulling her into a kiss, seemingly not caring at the public place. She sighed and relaxed into the kiss, silently thanking whichever God had let him take the first step.


	23. John

John sighs, pressing his forehead against the fridge door. Okay, so the group wasn't as bad as he had been expecting, but it was certainly... Confronting. Piper's girlfriend, Cait, a girl with a heavy accent, freckles on her nose, and a wide array of filthy jokes, had been pleasant though. It was nice to have three people there that he knew. But there was no fucking way he was going to tell this room full of strangers that he had a drug problem. Even though ninety nine percent of the people in the room did too. He could barely admit it to Capable. 

"You did really well..." Her arms circle his waist, "I'm really proud of you." 

"Thanks," he sighs, turning to face her, "thanks for not pushing me too much. I guess I'll go back next week..." 

"Really?" Her eyes light up with hope. He nods. 

"Sure. Even if it's just for the company," he grins, reaches behind her for a nuka cola. She smiles faintly. 

"I'm gonna go to bed," she tells him, a small smile still on her face. 

"Alright..." John says, kissing her before he leans against the counter, watches her head down the hallway to the room that is now theirs. Once the door has closed after her, he heads over to the couch, grabbing one of the Xbox controllers. 

"I hear you went to a group circle tonight," Deacon opens up the multiplayer screen for Minecraft. John gives a noncommittal jerk of the head and a grunt. 

"Piper told me. Don't worry, Cape isn't blabbering about your business. Good job, man. That group circle has done great shit for Cait." 

"I kept thinking I didn't belong there, until I turned up." John lit a cigarette, "bit of a fucking shock."

"I know, man, I know. But I'm proud of you. So's Cape, you can tell." 

"What if I can't do it?" John was comfortable with Deacon; they'd been best friends for years, and considering Deacon's job, it was very easy to talk to him. 

"I think you can. Hell, there's plenty of people who think you can. It's a matter of faith, John." Deacon snagged a cigarette from the box, "don't tell Mac." He added.

John grinned. "Where is he, anyway?"

"With Duncan. Poor kid broke his arm at preschool today." 

John winced. "Poor dude. How's the custody thing going?"

"Well. It's more, signing the papers and an inspection of this place to make sure the kid has a room. Speaking of which, would you be down with Cape moving her shit into your room? We're gonna need the room for Duncan eventually." 

"Sure," John shrugged, "she doesn't have a lot of stuff anyway. Wait, you're not kicking us out?" 

"Nah, just don't smoke or swear or anything in front of the kid. And the drug paraphernalia needs to be kept to outside or in your room. Hide it in your closet when we have the inspection, will you?"

"Hopefully I won't HAVE any of that shit by the time he comes to live here." John ashed his cigarette into the tray on the table. 

"Fingers crossed, but no pressure dude." 

"Don't worry, Deeks. I'll stash the stuff in the closet like you said. But yeah... I should hopefully be off it by then. I can't keep stressing Cape out with my shitty choices." 

"She just cares about you, man," Deacon ashed his own cigarette and took a swig of soda. 

"Yeah. God knows what I'm gonna do for work... Store's closing in a few weeks..." 

"We'll figure it out." Deacon reassured him, "hell, you can live here rent free for a while. Not like I owe my uncle a shit load on this place anymore, so..."

"I don't want to free load, man." John sighed, "maybe Mac's work has something going. Work is work." 

"Exactly," Deacon clapped him on the shoulder, "chin up, dude. Everything's going to be just fine." 

The reassurance was welcome, but he felt a lot better after a joint. Bidding Deacon goodnight, he headed down the hallway to bed before the cravings for something stronger set in. He wasn't surprised to see Capable awake; she often had trouble sleeping without him nowadays. 

"Hey," he slid into bed next to her, naked except his underwear. 

"Hey," she smiled at him, instantly pulling him into a hug. "You okay?"

"Yeah..." It wasn't a lie - he was feeling a lot better, and although he didn't want to admit it in case he jinxed it or something, he was feeling confident about the group.   
The last thing he was aware of as he drifted into sleep was Capable's lips on his forehead.


	24. Capable

Capable is in the bathroom, door locked, staring down at the plastic strip in her hand. Or rather. The pink plus sign that has recently appeared on it. Setting it down on the counter, she hoists herself up so that she's sitting beside the sink. 

She's been with John for almost eight months now, living in the same house, sleeping in the same bed. Over the last two months, he's been doing really well, going to group support, and his usage has cut down to almost never. She's so goddamn proud of him. Only, now there's this curveball. 

She knows that neither of them are ready to have a child. They don't make enough money, don't have enough time. Besides, she's twenty two years old. Too young, in her eyes. So she considers her options. 

"There's no point telling John..." She mutters to herself, "he'll just freak out, or blame himself..." 

She considers who she could take with her to the clinic, decision made. There's no way she can take Piper; she might accidentally mention it to John. Which leaves her precisely one other person she can potentially rely on to come with her. Because ere is absolutely zero chance that she will go by herself.

Taking a deep breath, Capable scrolls through her phone, finding the right number. He answers on the third ring.

"Valentine," his smooth voice almost calms her. 

"Nick? It's Capable... I need a favor."

\------

"Are you sure you're okay, Capable?" Nick sets a plate of food in front of her. 

"Yeah..." She pauses, "just... Kind of sore?" 

"The doctor did say that might happen." He toys with his own food. "May I ask why you asked me to come with you, instead of Johnathan?" 

Capable sighed, tempted not to answer. But that would feel rude. Nick had done her a favor, provided her with support when she desperately needed it and couldn't go to John for it. 

"He didn't know." She admitted, "I thought it would freak him out and mess him up. He's been doing really well lately, I didn't want to cause anything that might get him using again." 

"Ah." Before Nick could further comment, Capable's phone rang. 

"John?" She greeted.

"Cape, where are you?" He didn't seem too concerned. 

"I'm - with a friend. I'll be home later, okay?" She hated herself for not telling him which precise friend, but she wasn't sure how he would react. 

"Alright, I was just going to say, I'm going to the bar with Deeks and Mac." 

"Okay... Have fun." 

"Sure thing, sunshine. See ya." He hung up. 

Nick surveyed her for a moment. 

"Why did you lie?"

"I didn't," she shrugged, "we are friends... Right?"  
The corner of Nick's mouth curled into a smile. "Of course." 

She paused for a minute. "They probably won't be home til like... Four in the morning, knowing those guys." 

"I do have a spare room." He offered, "although, given the circumstances-"

"Nick. It's fine." She assured him, "it's not awkward for me if it isn't awkward for you."

"Well alright then." He shrugged, prodding at his food once more before he frowned, "screw it. Let's order pizza." 

She smiled faintly. "Thanks, Nick." 

"Anytime, doll."

\----------

The spare bed was comfortable, but she hated how cold she was. Nick had loaned her one of his police academy shirts to wear, but even under a thick blanket she was shivering, her mind reeling. What if she'd made the wrong choice. She hadn't been able to look during the procedure, even asking if they could knock her out. They hadn't. 

Afraid she might break down without any sort of support, she slides out of the cold bed and takes the few steps along the hallway to Nick's room. She pushes open the door to find him lying on his side, reading. 

"Hey..." She says quietly, "can I-?" 

Wordlessly, he lifts the the corner of the blanket, and she slides in next to him, burrowing against him. 

"You know you shouldn't be here." He mutters, setting the book aside. "You should be at home. With Hancock taking care of you." 

"I couldn't exactly tell him," Capable sighed, "and he wouldn't... He. I shouldn't put that on him."

Nick muttered a curse under his breath. "Capable. You're supposed to be his girlfriend, not his caretaker. He's a grown man. He should be able to cope with things like this without using cocaine." 

"Well I can't trust him to do that!" Capable snapped, hating herself for saying it despite how true it was. "If I told him, he probably would have lost his shit for not being careful enough, or beaten himself up thinking about his shitty childhood. Or he'd be mad and blame himself for me terminating it. I don't want to be responsible for that."

"Hey," Nick hugged her, "that's his issue, Capable. Not yours. It's not my place to tell you this, but Capable... You're twenty two years old. You should be out drinking on weekends, hating your job and blowing your money on things you don't need. Not spending every waking minute treading on eggshells, worrying about John. He's a nice guy. Hell, he may even be a good guy, but he's not good for you."

She wasn't sure what to say. He was right, she knew that deep down. But she cared about John. Hell, she might have even loved him. She wasn't sure anymore. Instead of speaking, she leaned up and kissed him instead. 

"Capable-" he started. 

"Don't you want me anymore?" She asked, confused. 

"Of course I do. But this isn't- are YOU sure?" He clearly hadn't been expecting her to react like this. 

"I'm sure." She says quietly, her lips already brushing against his. 

\--------


	25. Nick

He knows, in a small part of his mind, that this is wrong. That it's disrespectful to John. In a larger part of his mind, however, he doesn't care. The girl pressed against him deserves so much better. Not that he thinks he's better than John. A healthier choice, maybe, but not better. He's much older than her, fourteen years is a lot. An injured cop. But God, he loves her. He'll never tell her, not yet. It's not his place. 

She kisses him desperately, her hands running up his chest and into his hair. His amber eyes flutter closed, pulling her closer. For the first time, he's glad he sleeps shirtless. Her fingers avoid the old scar on his chest; Nick knows it isn't because she's disgusted, more like she's concerned she'll hurt him. When she rolls on top of him, grinding down against the growing bulge in his pants, all negative concepts and thoughts vanish. Groaning softly against her mouth, he tugs her shirt over her head. She whimpers as his hands cup her breasts, massaging gently. He ghosts his thumbs across her nipples, eliciting a soft moan. 

"Nick..." She breathes, "please!" 

He can't resist, overwhelmed by the desire to give her everything she desires and more. Hastily kicking off his pants, he gives his cock a few quick strokes, a little surprised at his own hardness. She sinks down onto him with a breathy moan. He barely has time to settle his hands on her waist before she starts to ride him, nails contracting on his chest as she bounces on his cock. God, he's missed her. He's only done this with her a few times before, in the same night, but he hasn't been able to be with anyone else since. He groans as she tightens around him, bucking his hips slowly, mindful that she may still be sensitive from the procedure from that morning. 

She moans, claws at his chest. Impulsively, he rolls them so he's on top, hitching one of her legs around his waist. 

"Oh god, Nick!" She wails, back arching, her nails dragging down his back. He moans softly, kissing every inch of her he can reach. He's not going to last long, but he doesn't care. From the way she's writhing beneath him and tightening around him, she won't last long either. He thrusts deeper, burying one hand in her soft hair, the other resting on her waist, helping to guide their movements. 

He's dimly aware of her tightening around him, a wetness around his throbbing dick as she cums, and then he loses it. Grunting lowly, he finishes inside her with a series of shallow, erratic thrusts. When he opens his eyes, she's brushing his sweat damp hair out of his eyes, which appear to be glowing slightly in his post-sex glow. 

"We shouldn't have-" he tries to say, but she silences him with a finger on his lips.

"Maybe we should." She says softly, "it doesn't matter. We did. I don't regret it."

"Hmm," he pulls out of her, nestles against her in a relaxed embrace. 

"Do you? Regret it, I mean?" She asks, chewing her lip nervously.

"I'm a man, Capable." He smiles, "but the answer to your question is no. Absolutely not. I will never regret any moment I get to spend with you." 

She blushes, nuzzles sleepily against him, too tired to question or ponder his words. 

Once she's asleep, he buries his face in her short hair, inhaling her scent. Nick never sleeps well. Even exhausted from their illicit tryst, he won't sleep for hours. Or so he thinks. Before he even processes that last thought, he's asleep. 

\--------

Soft lips on his scar and neck wake him. He looks down at her, at her wide eyes. 

"We should probably get you home." He sighs regretfully. She looks so beautiful in the morning light, her hair mussed from sex and sleep, her eyes soft with something he can't quite read. 

"I know..." She mumbles, burying her face in his shoulder. He's not sure if she's regretful or more unhappy that she has to leave, and he doesn't push it. If or when she's ready to talk about it with him, she will. 

"Dark blue shirt, I think." Nick comments. 

Capable raises an eyebrow at him.

"Well if I'm going to get smacked in the face..."

She sighs. "Nick-"

He raises his hands. "I'm kidding. However I kind of assumed you would tell him."

"Maybe. If he asks." Capable shrugs, then pauses. "Did you really mean what you said last night? About not regretting any moment you spend with me?"

"Of course I meant that." He sighs, wrapping his arms around her. Something flickers in her eyes, but she says nothing, merely climbs out of bed and digs around for her clothes. He's not sure what's coming next, but he hopes to god he isn't going to have to arrest anyone.


	26. Capable

She's glad Nick's car has tinted windows. Mostly because she's afraid John might come out onto the porch, and if he does, she knows she'll feel horrible. Especially considering she let Nick kiss her. He's still kissing her, and she's still kissing back. When she pulls away, she spies John sitting on the porch. She's not sure why she kissed Nick, but it felt like a goodbye. An acknowledgment that really, they can't ever do what they did last night again.

When she gets out the car, Nick following, guilt overwhelms her. 

"Cape! You didn't come home. I was worried about y- you were with him?" John's sentence cuts off, surprise and suspicion colouring his tone. 

"I wasn't feeling so good yesterday," she says truthfully, "so I stayed with Nick because you weren't home." 

John raises an eyebrow. "So," he gestures between them, "how long has this been a thing?"

"What?" Capable blinks, confused.

"How long have you and Nick been fucking behind my back?" 

She almost falls over. "We haven't been-" 

"Yeah? Really? Don't bullshit me, Capable." 

"Once." Nick cuts in, "only once. Neither of us meant it to happen, and it was mostly my fault."

"Don't be stupid." Capable cuts in. "It takes two people."

"I took advantage of your emotional state. The blame lies with me." 

John surveys them both for a moment, still furious.

"Emotional state? Why. What happened?" 

"Something came up. And I didn't want to tell you about it because I thought it would set you backwards. We've been dealing with so much lately I didn't want to put anything else on you. I've been so stressed, John. I know it's not your fault but-" 

"But she's not your caretaker." Nick finishes. 

"Hey, I've had a lot of shit on my mind." John cuts in. "Not that it's your business." He adds, glowering at Nick.

"It is my business when you're too damn self-absorbed to take care of the girl who takes care of you. It's my damn business when she would rather ask me to come to important things than bother you because she's too afraid to tell you!" 

John paused. "What important things?" He rounded on Capable. She sighed, seeing no option but to tell him.

"I- please don't be mad, but. Something came up, that I know we aren't ready for. And... I had to do what was right for us."

"What do you mean?"

"I had an abortion, John," she sighs, pinching her nose between her thumb and forefinger. There's silence for a moment. 

"And... You didn't think that was something you should tell me?" 

"I didn't think you'd want to know. I thought it would just stress you out so I... I just went ahead and did it." 

"Without consulting me." 

"Well it's not like you would have wanted to keep it!" She sighed, exasperated.

"That's beside the point, Capable. I should have gotten a say at least!" 

"I'm sorry."

"So... Not only do you do that, without telling me, but then you go and fuck someone else because... Why?"

She's not sure what to say. 

"Because you're not supportive, Johnathan. Because all her time is spent taking care of you. Focused on you. And you don't show that level of dedication in return." Nick cut in again, "is it any goddamn wonder?"

There was a brief second where Capable thought John might actually hit him. His arm twitched but he kept control. 

"Not worth the assault charge." He muttered. 

"You should go," Capable told Nick quietly, "before this escalates."

"And leave you here?"

"He won't hurt me," she frowned, "but you being here is making this worse."

Once Nick had left, she followed John into the house.

"I'm sorry. I fucked up, okay."

"Just leave it, Capable." John sighs tiredly, "I can't blame you, okay? I know I've not been the greatest person lately. As much as I hate to admit it, Nick's right."

"You're ill. You're allowed to be self absorbed while you recover from an addiction," she protested. He shrugged.

"Doesn't mean I should be neglecting you, and I have been. I don't blame you for getting lonely. I'm sorry."

"I swear... It was one time. And it won't happen again." 

"I know." He sighed heavily, "I know, Cape. I'm just more pissed off that you didn't think you could tell me about such a goddamn huge decision yesterday. I mean. I understand why but. God." He flopped onto the couch. 

"I'm sorry." 

"I know. C'mere." He beckoned to her. She crawled into his lap, guilt overwhelming her. 

"I'm so sorry, John. I don't deser-"

"Don't say shit like that. You deserve better than me, so I'm really not surprised. I'm not mad at you because I can tell you regret it." 

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you about the abortion."

"You're right though. I would have freaked out. But if this happens again, Capable. I want you to tell me. I should have been there with you, not Nick."

"I know..." 

There was a brief moment where he buried his face in her shoulder. 

"Do you love him?"

"What?" She blinked, looked at him in surprise, "no! Of course not!" 

He sighed with relief. "It's just. He loves you, and it's so obvious." 

She nodded, "I know. But it's not like that on my end, I swear." 

"I believe you." He paused again, "do you want food?"

"What sort of food?" 

"Pancakes."

"Yeah, okay." She shrugged. 

It was strange to be standing side by side in the kitchen, making pancakes together. She had expected more fury from him, but was certain most of his anger was directed at Nick. Maybe it was easier that way. Well, if John wasn't going to hate her for it, she would hate herself.


	27. Capable

Aside from the odd text message here or there, she doesn't see Nick for almost a fortnight afterwards. She's sleeping in her own room again, her relationship with John almost beyond repair. She talks in her sleep, he tells her. And apparently repeating Nick's name in her sleep is a bad thing. Well. Duh. She's still insistent that she doesn't love him, that he's just someone she can rely on. But the more she thinks on it, the worse she feels. There's a lot of truth in everything she and Nick spoke about, even if it probably wasn't his place to say it. John isn't a bad guy. He's a good guy. Great, in fact. But he needs to focus on himself. And she... Well... She needs to get her own head straight. She's thinking about going back to college. Transferring majors or something. 

They've already had this conversation. Mutually agreed that their own issues make them too complex for each other. Not that John is happy about it. It breaks her heart that he's still trying to win her back, knowing full well that at this point they're about as good for each other as his vices are for him. She sighs. It's midday, her day off, and she has the house to herself. 

Her phone buzzes. 

Everything okay? 

Of course, it's Nick. She types back a simple "yeah", knows she should put her phone down. She's in the middle of a relationship breakdown for gods sake. And it's partly because of Nick and the close relationship they had before she slept with him. But that happened for a reason, surely. The feelings she didn't know she had - or perhaps wilfully ignored - are pouring out now, filling her entire being. 

Before she can change her mind, she types out another message, the first line mimicking most of Nick's messages lately, the second, her own feelings returned and hits send. 

I need to see you. I miss you. 

A few moments later, she receives a response.

En route now. Emergency 100m ahead, will deal w it and be right over.

She hauls herself out of bed, raking her fingers through her hair, hoping to god that he'll be there soon. 

Twenty minutes pass before her phone rings again. She doesn't recognise the number.


	28. Nick

He's on his way to Capable's place when he spots the accident scene. So far, there's no ambulance on the scene or anything. But the cars are pretty banged up and one is in flames. Nick turns on the sirens of his patrol car, assessing the situation as he guns the engine, pulling up to the scene; a woman with a bloodied cut on her forehead is struggling to open the rear door of the vehicle, a man who must be the other driver is slumped, unconscious or worse, behind the wheel of the other car. 

"Did you call 911?" Nick asks the frantic woman. She nods, tears at the door again. 

"They won't get here in time.. My grandson is in there!" 

Sure enough, Nick can hear a young boy in the background. Turning from the woman - her car is more damaged than she is - he hurries to try and wrench the door free, but it's crushed in. The only other way in is red hot, but Nick doesn't spare a moment to think of it; he's dimly aware of a searing pain in his right hand as the red-hot door burns his skin, but it doesn't matter. He beats flames away with his already-scorched hand, fiddles with the child's seat belt with his free hand. The heat is overwhelming; his vision blurs as a flame licks at his hand. He will not fall, he will not. He tells himself this as he carries the child to his guardian on unsteady feet. He can hear sirens in the background. 

About goddamn time, he thinks as the woman takes the child from his arms. Her horrified gasp makes him look down at his hand; the skin has practically burned down to the bone. 

Well, look at that. Nick thinks, and then he passes out. 

\--------------

The last time Nick Valentine was in a hospital bed, he had a gunshot wound that had almost blown his arm off. His left arm. When he comes too and realises that he can't feel his hand, he almost wishes he had the bullet hole again. He wrinkles his nose: they've put a cannula in. It tickles. He knows, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he is merely delaying the inevitable. So he looks down, already knowing what he will see, but still entirely unprepared for it. The stump of his wrist, heavily bandaged, his right hand - his gun hand - gone. 

"Oh, Nick, thank god you're awake..." He looks up into Capable's ashen face. Of course they called her. She was the last person he texted before the accident. He imagines her frantic worrying, explaining she didn't have a car. His partner must have brought her in. Her eyes are puffy and bloodshot, the table beside her littered with empty coffee cups and red bull cans. He wonders vaguely how long she's been beside his bed. 

"I'm fine..." He assures her, "how's that boy I pulled out the car?"

"You saved my friend's son. MacCready's kid. That was him that you pulled from the wreck. You're a hero. I mean. I knew that already but... Oh god, Nicky, your hand! I tried to stop them but they had no choice..." She shudders and he realises she must have seen him before the surgery. Was the wound already black with blood and burn tissue? He doesn't want to think about it. 

"But they're okay? All three victims?"

"Yeah, the driver of the other car was knocked out and might have to have surgery... I think he's in a coma. But the kid and grandma are fine." She assures him. "I was so worried about you, Nicky... I thought-" she cuts off, clearly afraid she's said too much. He shakes his head. 

"It'd take more than that to kill me." He sighs, "sorry I bailed on meeting you, though. Was it important?"

"Kind of," she shrugs, "just... John and I... We're going our separate ways. And... I think I'm in love with you, Nick."

Even with pain medication flowing freely through his veins, elation courses through him. 

"But I'm old. With a bullet wound and no hand." 

"I don't give a damn." She says firmly. "I would love you even if you had worse injuries. You're still my Nicky, and I'll be damned if I don't help you through this." 

Maybe it's the meds. Maybe he's still in shock. Maybe he's just so god damned relieved and HAPPY that she feels the same. But for the first time since the incident that got him shot, Nick Valentine cries.


	29. Capable

The prosthetic is metal. Curie, the specialist and Capable's old friend, assures Nick it will only be temporary - that he'll have a less noticeable prosthetic soon. Capable sits on a chair and holds Nick's good hand as he tries again to flex metal fingers without wincing: the prosthetic, where it attaches to his wrist, hurts. Later, she'll rub petroleum jelly across the friction burns on the stump of his wrist. She knows that once Curie has left, Nick will remove the metal hand and pointedly ignore it. Without his trigger hand, he's told her, he feels like he's defenceless. Like he can't protect himself, let alone her. The metal hand is just a reminder to him. 

Sure enough, as soon as Curie closes the door of Nick's apartment behind her, he fumbles with the buckle and sets the hand aside, cursing under his breath. She sighs. 

"Nick... You know what the doctors said. If you don't at least TRY and get used to it..."

She knows even as she speaks that it's a pointless endeavour. At least he's not too prideful - he's asked her for help, so here she is. Cooking for him, helping him shower and shave. He's trying, and half-failing, half-succeeding, at getting used to being left handed. In the days since the accident, he's been quiet and moody. Not that she blames him. 

"Why does the damn thing have to be metal?" Nick sighs, "I look like some sort of robot." Pointedly ignoring the hand on the table, he stands, ruefully rubbing the stump of his wrist. "That's what trying to be a goddamn hero gets me, I suppose." 

"You didn't try to be a hero, Nicky, you ARE a hero." Capable corrects him. He mumbles something irritably, trying to tug his shirt off. She sighs before she moves to help him, snagging his button down shirt from the couch as she goes. He mumbles a thank you intermittent with curses as she helps him change out of the t-shirt and into the button down. 

"God," he snapped, "I'm so useless, how am I meant to work now? Fucking hell, I'm thirty six years old. I don't want to retire yet!"

"Well... I mean... Maybe when your new prosthetic comes in... You can go back to work?" 

Nick sighed. "Appreciate you trying to cheer me up, love, but I just can't see it happening. Not really sure what I'm gonna do now. Sit on my ass watching tv while you work, I guess. Until paid leave runs out..."

"Nicky." Capable cupped his face in her hands. "We'll figure it out, okay? I know everything feels shitty right now, but I promise, things are going to get better." 

He sighed again, "alright. I'll take your word for it. Let's go get takeout, okay?" 

Capable nodded, "okay."   
She didn't mind looking after him; hell, she was glad he was letting her. Mentally, however, she made a note to call Curie, hoping she would have some ideas to help Nick deal with the depression that had come with losing his hand.


	30. Nick

Nick Valentine is starting to get sick of his apartment. Even with the new prosthetic fitted, which is still, in his opinion, creepy, (although decidedly less creepy than the metal one), he hates going outside. It feels like everyone is staring at him, despite Capable telling him he's just paranoid. Sure, his new hand is bone white, but Capable assures him, nobody's looking. Either way, when he does go out, he wears gloves. 

He's lounging on the couch, stack of read books next to him, daytime tv shows playing in the background. God, Nick's sick of Oprah. So he's extremely glad for the distraction in the form of Capable. 

"Nicky? You awake? I have a surprise for you!"

"Yeah," he turns the television off and sits up in an attempt to look less scruffy. He's never really been keen on surprises, but for Cape, he won't be grumpy about it. 

The surprise, as it turns out, follows Capable into the room in the form of a large German Shepherd, tail wagging, leash in mouth. 

"So, you know how Curie said having a companion might help? I went down to her boyfriend's animal shelter today. Danse says this little guy was having a hard time getting adopted because he has a limp. I know he's kinda big, but-" she looks at Nick's stunned expression and droops a little. "I'm sorry... I should have asked..." 

He shakes his head, "no, no... I left it to you, after all. I was just, sort of... Expecting a smaller dog." Even as he says it, though, he can see why Capable chose this particular dog for him. Despite the dog being quite large, he's a friendly-looking fellow, wide brown eyes surveying Nick, tail wagging, drool covering the leash in his mouth. Nick sighs. 

"He got a name?" 

Capable perks up at once, clearly relieved that he's not mad at her.

"Danse says he won't answer to anything but Dogmeat. Literally everyone at the shelter has tried to rename the little guy, but... No dice."

"Dogmeat, huh?" Nick raises an eyebrow, "someone wasn't very creative." The dog, upon hearing his name, wags his tail expectantly, dropping his drool-covered leash onto Nick's feet. Capable snorts. 

"Dogmeat it is, I guess." He grins, ruffles the fur on top of the dog's head, "hope you bought enough food for him, Cape." 

"Oh, yeah," Capable nods, "it's all in the hallway. I thought you guys could make friends while I run some errands. I didn't pick up that stuff from the station for you, I was gonna head back out but then Danse called up and said he had the perfect dog for you." 

Nick sighs, shakes his head, "you don't have to go get that stuff for me, Cape."

"Oh, it's no issue! Sarge said he put all your personal stuff into a box and to come pick it up from him." Capable shrugs; in the weeks since Nick's injury, she's become familiar and friendly with everyone Nick works with, including his field partner, Edward Deegan, the 'sarge' in question. 

"Well, alright doll. Just don't want to put you out."

Capable smiles, kisses him on the forehead. "It's ok, Nicky, I like running errands for you. You know me, the care-for-everyone type." 

He grins at her, waves as she disappears back down the hallway, closing the front door behind her, leaving him alone with the dog. 

"Well, boy, let's go check the hallway for your food, hmm?" Nick heaves himself to his feet, rakes his good hand through his hair. He really needs to take a shower. Probably shave, too, though he still hasn't gotten the hang of it left handed. Yet another thing he'll have to ask Capable to help him with when she gets home. He sighs, knows she doesn't mind helping him, taking care of him. That she had to do so much more for Hancock. Not that he enjoys making that little comparison in his head. With another sigh, he drags the bag of pet supplies into the kitchen, digging through it til he finds bowls and canned dog food. 

Once Dogmeat is fed, Nick returns to the couch, surprised when the dog jumps up beside him, gnawing on his claws. All in all, Nick supposes the enormous beast isn't bad company.


	31. Capable

Capable has been to the station enough times over the last few weeks that she's familiar with most people there. Ellie, the secretary, buzzes her through, giving her a visitor badge. Capable likes Ellie; she's quiet, keeps to herself, but when Nick was in hospital, she brought them both coffee every day, and flowers from everyone in the office. 

"How's he doing, Cape?" Ellie asks as she fixes a safety pin to the badge. 

"Better, I think. I mean, I think he'll be better now we have Dogmeat."

"Dogmeat?" Ellie raised an eyebrow. 

"He won't answer to anything else. Oh! He's our new dog. Well. Nick's dog." 

"Aw, I read dogs are really good for low moods. Hope he helps." Ellie gives her a wave as Capable heads behind the door, along the hallway to Sergeant Deegan's office. Capable likes Edward, likes how much of a supportive friend he is to Nick, even if when she first met him, he scared her a little. Before he was a cop, Edward was in the army. From what Capable heard from Nick, he was hit with an acid grenade in Afghanistan, leaving his entire body scarred. He still has a friendly smile, though, and he's always the first person Capable can count on if Nick needs help while she's working. 

"Capable! How's Nick doing?" Edward looks up from an open case file. 

"Much better, I think. How are you doing?" She knows he still has chronic pain sometimes, thinks it was pretty weird of the department to put the two guys with injuries together but never questioned it. 

"Ah, I'm doing okay, kid. Anyway, I boxed all of Nick's stuff up, it's on his desk. You take care of him, hey?"

"Sure will, Edward."

"Good to see him happy again... After Jennifer... Well.."

Capable blinks, "who's Jennifer?" 

"Jenny Lands? He never mentioned her to you?" Edward's expression goes from bemused to look of a man who has brought up something he shouldn't have. 

"... No? Should he have?"

"I'm gonna... Leave that one to Nick. Not my place." Edward says, "just... Handle it cautiously, okay?"

"Sure, Edward. Thanks." Capable collects the box from Nick's desk, waving to Edward as she leaves. 

When she gets out to the parking lot, box on the passenger seat of Nick's car, she pulls her phone out her pocket. Capable is rational enough to actually Google someone before asking her boyfriend about them. From the way Edward spoke, it didn't sound good. 

When the search returns dozens of news articles, Capable sits in silence for a moment. Crime scene photographs. Mentions of Nick Valentine, injured in a shootout between him and a major crime lord, Eddie Winter. The man who murdered Jennifer Lands. Nick's.... Fiancée.


	32. Nick

Nick can tell almost straight away that something's up with Capable, no matter how much she tries to hide it. He knows she's probably trying to hide it out of some misplaced sense that she isn't allowed to be sad around him. He sighs, gets up off the couch and goes into the kitchen, finds her stress baking. He knows she's stress baking because he can smell brownies. 

"Capable. Talk to me. What's wrong?" 

"Nothing, Nicky. Honest." She sighs, but she won't meet his gaze.

"Cape. C'mon, doll, talk to me." His hands, both flesh and prosthetic, circle her waist. She bites her lip nervously, and then speaks. 

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"About what, sweetheart?" Confusion fills his voice. What the hell is she talking about? 

"About... Um... Jenny." She looks down on the last word, and Nick sighs. He should have known she'd find out one day. Have questions. 

"I didn't think... I didn't think you'd want to know."

"Nicky, how can I compete with a dead girl?" Capable looks up at him. It breaks his heart to see tears in her eyes. Of course, he's seen her cry before. But never because of him. 

"I don't want you to, Cape. Listen to me, okay?" Nick bit his lip and continued, "six years ago, I was engaged to Jennifer Lands. During that time, I was working a case to take down one of this city's biggest crime lords. Eddie Winter. But he was onto me. She was murdered, because of me. I caught him eventually. Shot him. Not before he put a bullet in me, though." He smiled ruefully as Capable's fingers touched his old bullet wound. "But I've made peace. I thought I would never meet anyone else. Never really dared to, either. Because I was afraid that someone would take that person from me, too. But when I first saw you... I wanted to know you. Do you know how you looked to me?"

"Freaky? A punk?" Capable guessed. Nick chuckled. 

"Different, I suppose. With your shaved hair and safety pins and buttons in your ears... But God, Capable. Your smile... It gave me hope. And you... You give me hope every single day. Please, don't feel like you have to compete with Jennifer. Of course, I remember her fondly. But it's been six years, Cape. Believe me when I say, you're the only one who holds my heart now."

"I'm sorry, Nicky. I shouldn't have brought it up..." 

"Nah, it's okay, Cape." He shook his head, "you needed to know, and I should have told you about it sooner."

"It's okay." She hugged him tightly, then paused, "I hope you like brownies..." 

He laughed.


	33. John

This is the third time John has been in a fight with the orderlies here. The first time, it was for contraband possession. The second time, because he was cold turkey off crack and hated every single fucking one of them. This time? Because apparently trading a pack of cigarettes and a walkman for a blunt is considered ‘poor form’. Right. Like any one of these sanctimonious fucks know what it’s like. His entire body feels like it’s on fire, and he blames only himself. He’s already cussed out god, the doctors, and everyone else today. Gotten himself a black eye from what looks suspiciously like a bikie, as well. But no, what’s really pissing him off is the orderly on duty, who caught him smoking the blunt on the back lawn of the place and gave him a lecture about taking his rehabilitation seriously. Like it’s easy to saunter on into a rehab clinic and drop habits you’ve had for years. Yeah fucking right.

 

John throws the tennis ball at the opposite wall of his room. He’s on lockdown for the next forty-eight hours for possessing – and ingesting – contraband items. This means absolutely zero contact with anyone except at meal time, which, in John’s mind, is far too much like prison to be good news. Hence his foul mood, despite the fact that at least they haven’t taken his phone or laptop away. They keep saying once everything is out his system, he’ll feel better. That he’s only so foul tempered because he’s still detoxing from crack, pot, and god knows what else. Of course, they’re probably right, which doesn’t drive him any less mad. John hates being pushed around and told what to do, but since he lost the record store and managed to lose three jobs in as many weeks, he figured he may as well give rehab a chance. Unfortunately, he’s starting to regret that decision, no matter how worth it the choice may come to be in the future. 

 

If anything, John just wishes Capable was around to talk to. Sure, Deacon and Mac come to see him on occasion. So do Piper and Cait. But it’s not the same without Capable. But he supposes she’s been busy taking care of Valentine. From what he heard, the detective was in some sort of accident and lost his hand. John knows it’s selfish, but god, does he wish Capable was still around to take care of him. One day, he tells himself, one day, he might be over her, find someone else. Maybe a nice guy or something this time. John sighs; he’s supposed to be released in three weeks. They added an extra week for the contraband today. It was meant to be two weeks. Great. Another week in this dump. John scowls. Still, at least he’s over the desire to use crack.

The first month in here was a nightmare of cold turkey, puking constantly, sweating and shaking. Gross. Not an experience he has any desire to repeat. He’s turned off of coke and any other hard drug for life. Weed, though? Man, he would give anything for a joint. Unfortunately, given that he’s been arrested before, John has been told he’ll be given a police officer to report in to every week. Great. He supposes this is what happens when you choose rehab over prison. Did he mention he was busted hauling coke? Only enough for himself, but still enough to give him a few months in the hole if his lawyer hadn’t made it plain he had an addiction. So the judge had given him a choice; rehab, or jail. Of course he’d chosen the former. 

But great, a probation officer. Thank god it won’t be a detective. John can’t think of anything worse than reporting weekly to Nick Valentine or someone else of his ilk. Sighing, John marks down another day on his calendar. Twenty days to go...


End file.
